


Ebonsong

by redrunedfey



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Major Original Character(s), Male-Female Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, World of Warcraft: Warlords of Draenor Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrunedfey/pseuds/redrunedfey
Summary: Khadgar knew it would be dangerous, but expected it to be simple enough in theory: go through the Dark Portal (again), shut the Dark Portal (again).  Instead, it's quite possible the expedition just made everything worse, and his life would be simpler if he could like the Alliance Commander a little bit less.  She’s a stubborn, infuriating death knight—the last thing Khadgar expected might be exactly what he needs.
Relationships: Khadgar (Warcraft)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 46





	1. Same song, second verse

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time in a very long time that I've written anything with the intention of posting it to a fansite. I'm rusty, so fair warning. I'll also bend game mechanics (and maybe even some lore) to suit plot purposes--just in case that's something anyone wishes to avoid in reading fanfiction.

Khadgar grimaced as another group of bellowing, brown skinned orc warriors came charging out of the portal and smashed into the wearied lines of Horde and Alliance soldiers. It was like living a nightmare, in more ways than one—or perhaps like reliving one. The Archmage sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose against a persistent headache. _How many times will I have to close this damn thing?_

The armored draenei vindicator (Maraad, Khadgar thought his name was) was redirecting Alliance troops to bolster weak spots in the line. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before cutting his blue gaze over to the huge paladin. “You said reinforcements were inbound?”

“They should be here any moment, my friend,” Maraad answered as he turned back to the smaller man. A gauntleted hand reached up to absently stroke a ringed tentacle. “It is my understanding that King Varian has rallied a number of veterans and champions. It will, of course, take time to move in supplies and more troops. We will hold until then.”

Khadgar inclined his head and the draenei paladin turned away, smoothly resuming directing the chaos immediately around them. The Archmage looked back toward the portal just in time to see it vomit another group of orcs into the fray. _Light grant that you’re right, paladin._

A large, gloved, and heavy hand whumped into his shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. Doing his best not to stagger a bit, Khadgar glanced over to the shaman Thrall, who smiled toothily at him. “He’s right. Regardless of race, the people of Azeroth will hold. You’ll see.” Thrall’s ears pricked up and he turned his green face to the sky. “Someone comes, even now.”

Khadgar felt hope brush through him tentatively as he followed the shaman’s gaze. “There,” Thrall called as he raised a hand and pointed toward a patch of distant, magic torn sky. As they watched, several specks began to take shape into winged forms bearing riders. At first he thought it must surely be the force Maraad had spoken of, but as they drew closer on furious wings, Khadgar could see Horde as well as Alliance. 

The groups split, and began looping descents to land in waves in the staging areas for their respective factions. Relieved, Khadgar and Thrall turned back to the battle.

*

The elven death knight who called herself Ashen swept an analytical gaze over the basin holding the Dark Portal. The rear lines and hospital tents began on a high ridge than ran in a rough circle around the basin—or perhaps crater—that held the towering edifice. The roar of the battle reached her in waves, the susurration of rising and falling din punctuated by the rumble of magic discharging in the torn sky. The Alliance and Horde forces had dug in before the portal, and were holding the invasion mostly at bay—though the bustling hospital tents behind her offered testament to the high cost. The lines were sagging and weary, and many of the barricades had been destroyed. The battle was not going well, though she knew it could have easily been worse. 

Ashen’s glowing, arctic gaze moved from the embattled lines to the foreboding darkness of the portal writhing between the pillars, and sighed inwardly. It was the third time in her memory that the portal had opened, and the sight made her insides writhe in dismay. She swept her gaze over the battle lines one last time. The orcs were contained for the moment, but it would take more than Azeroth’s defenders were currently doing to break through them, and through the portal in an offensive of their own.

“Lady Ashen, the mages are ready to open their portals.” Her second in command, a human death knight named Davinby, gestured to an area a short distance away from the triage tents to a group wearing the robes of the Kirin Tor. Glancing at the mages who’d accompanied her from Stormwind, she nodded permission to proceed. Davinby snapped her a crisp salute and strode away, bellowing in the strident, echoing voice of their kind. Ashen watched as the mages moved into groups and began casting for a moment, then turned her attention to the battlefield. With the reinforcements and supplies that were to come through the portals, the chances of successfully making a push through the Dark Portal would rise dramatically. Ashen checked her gear, then started walking down to the small group she’d been sent to meet. 

Maraad and Thrall were readily identifiable as she half strode, half slid down the slope toward the makeshift command area. Her brows drew together for a moment as she eyed the human between them; Khadgar, Archmage and Alliance hero was supposed to be here, but that man wasn’t old enough. Rust colored scree scattered around her feet, and she shifted her posture and her feet slid down the slope with it. She reached the bottom in a clatter of settling rocks and puffs of acrid orange dust, then looked over to the group once more. 

Now that she was closer, she could feel—and practically see—the magic the human possessed. It was coiled, aware—poised to be unleashed at the slightest provocation; the mage was at full battle field awareness, and he turned as if feeling her gaze. Ashen kicked the last of the rock and dust from her boots and strode toward him. That arcane blue gaze could only belong to one man. It was him, after all.

Ashen remembered meeting the legendary mage years ago, when her assignment for the Alliance military had taken her to Outland. It was rather hard to forget the grumpy, somewhat rude mage sporting a white beard nearly as long as he was tall. It was possible she’d met Khadgar before he’d gone through the portal with Turalyon and his forces, but if she had she couldn’t remember; some of her living memories had faded to the point of having a dreamlike quality. She was certain that the mage was much altered since she’d seen him last, though. 

Khadgar was unusually tall for a human; it was rare to encounter one that looked down to meet her eyes, even though she was somewhat petite for a night elf. He was watching her approach with wary interest, and something that almost looked like recognition in his vibrant blue eyes. His hair was a rich silver, rather than the white she remembered, and it had probably once been neatly swept back from his forehead. The mage had rugged features, with a strong nose, square jaw and chin. As she flicked a curious gaze over him briefly before meeting his gaze once more, Ashen decided his face wasn’t the only thing that was rugged. For a mage, he had a build and bearing remarkably like that of a warrior.

The magic she’d sensed around Khadgar brushed over her as she drew within speaking distance of the command post, and she gave an inward, exasperated sigh. The soft brush of magic was pleasing, and the damned mage was handsome. Death knight or not, she apparently still possessed the weakness shared by most of the elven races—being drawn to magic and its most powerful wielders like moths to a flame.

Perfect.

*

Khadgar had stopped twitching whenever the sound of rock and earth tearing loose from the slopes into the basin reached him some two days ago. The magic torn skies spit lightning that would stab into the basin’s edge and set off a torrent of scree and rubble that was sometimes deafening, even over the din of battle. Once it had even worked to their advantage, as an edge near the portal had given way and peppered the orc invaders with sharp rocks. He’d heard the slide of rock behind him, absently judged it to be a negligible amount, and kept his focus on the portal.

As he was watching yet another wave of orcs push through the writhing magic of the gateway, the hair at the back of his neck lifted. It felt as though something cool had brushed against him for a moment—enough of an oddity in this arid, miserable place to be instantly noticeable. Khadgar resisted the urge to swat at the back of his neck to dislodge the phantom touch as he looked over his shoulder. His gaze met that of an elven woman, who must have also been the source of the tumbling rock he’d heard. 

The elf’s glowing, icy blue eyes met his unflinchingly as she came gliding toward him. Khadgar blinked in surprise, strongly reminded of Alleria. That she was elven was obvious, but to which of the races she belonged was less so. Khadgar figured her hair was a light blue, though it looked gray in the waning light, and her skin was blueish white. Her coloring was too vibrant to mark her as one of the high elves, and too light to make her a night elf. Taller than a high elf, shorter than a night elf…curvier figure than a night elf…

 _I’m standing on a battlefield and that’s what I notice?_ Khadgar sighed inwardly as his gaze moved over her face. She was lovely, though there was something about her demeanor that suggested she might as well have been carved from ice. Her features were elegant, and slightly more delicate than those that would’ve graced a night elf. The only markings she bore about her eyes were a single, long stripe from the outer corner of each eye, in a purplish-blue trail toward her jaw. It bore a striking resemblance to tear tracks, he thought. There was something almost familiar about her, though he was sure he’d have remembered meeting such a striking woman. He certainly would have remembered the feel of the power she radiated.

“Ah, she arrives at last! Lady Ashen, you were in danger of missing the party,” Maraad boomed cheerfully as he stepped around Khadgar. The massive draenei extended a hand toward the woman in dark armor, and the mage watched as she clasped his forearm in a warrior’s greeting.

“Well met, paladin,” Ashen said with a half-smile as he released her. “You manage to retain your shine even in this hellish dust basin, I see.”

“Sparkling is tiresome work, but someone has to do it,” Maraad answered with mock gravity. He beckoned her closer with a wave of a massive gauntlet. “Enough of that. Come. You know everyone, yes? Perhaps you’ve not met the mage?”

Khadgar lifted a brow at the paladin, finally tearing his gaze away from the elf with the striking face and haunting voice. “I don’t recall having the pleasure,” he told her as he eyed Maraad’s smirk. He glanced back to find her watching him, and he swallowed. _Poor choice of words._

“Khadgar, this is Ashen, lately of the Ebon Blade,” Maraad supplied helpfully. “Hero of the Alliance, champion to Varian himself—”

“A death knight,” Khadgar said as he blinked in surprise. “I suppose that explains it.”

Silence descended, and the archmage became aware that Maraad and Thrall were both staring at him. The death knight arched her brows at him, though she didn’t appear offended. “Nice to meet you,” she said dryly. “What does it explain?”

“Ah,” Khadgar hedged, shifting his weight. “There’s an unusual aura about you,” he finally answered. She inclined her head, and he released a breath. _There’s also the almost unnatural beauty and voice that sounds like every kind of imaginable sin,_ he thought. _I could have told her so, if I wanted this to get_ really _awkward…It’s official, I spend too much time with books of magic._

“I’ve heard much about you, Archmage,” Ashen told him after a moment, her head titled to one side. Her eyes flicked down him, then back up to his face. “I thought you’d be older,” she added. Khadgar gaped at her, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward briefly. That low, slightly echoing voice of hers had been laced with dry amusement.

“I told him he was much improved by the loss of the beard,” Thrall laughed. “It’s good to see you, Champion.”

“You as well, shaman,” came the reply. To Khadgar’s surprise, they clasped forearms briefly and exchanged nods of respect. Ashen turned to face him, her expression settling into flat impassivity. She came to attention, and saluted him with a fist to her chest, then returned to parade rest.

“Archmage, I bring greetings from His Majesty, King Wrynn. I have been tasked with breaking the line and ensuring your safety through the portal. Reinforcements and supplies are coming through the portals from Stormwind as we speak.”

“Your aid will be most welcome,” Khadgar told her seriously. “Your focus will be better spent on the field than on my wellbeing, I imagine. I’ve been assigned a Warden, Cordana Felsong, for that purpose.” He glanced around for the Warden, who helpfully unstealthed nearby and bowed to the death knight.

Ashen inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. “Understood. Warden,” she greeted. Her glowing eyes moved back to Khadgar. “My Horde counterpart appears to have similar news about reinforcements.” She glanced away, and the others followed her gaze to spot the approach of a massive tauren paladin. “Our preparations will be done within the hour, and I’ve already ordered the first wave of fresh troops to being relieving our forces at the portal,” Ashen finished.

“Very good, Champion. My thanks.” Khadgar studied her for a moment before turning to watch the battle raging around the base of the portal. He was dimly aware of Maraad shifting to allow the death knight to step up to the table, and of the tauren joining Thrall. The din of clashing weapons and shouts was a physical presence, pressing against his ears and chest as he took a slow breath. “Now, we wait,” he muttered.

“Indeed,” Maraad said, levity gone. “That is always the most difficult part.”

*

The hour Ashen had estimated passed in the odd combination of bustle and boredom that she found often accompanied warfare. Davinby came and went to supply updates and relay her orders, as well as to insistently thrust her helm at her until she reluctantly tucked it under one arm. She glowered at the other death knight, who shrugged. 

“Highlord’s orders, milady,” Davinby rasped.

“Tell Darion I said he’s an arse,” Ashen muttered in discontent. Her second only snorted. It was a long-standing debate well known to the Ebon Blade; Ashen preferred to forgo a helm for the unrestricted field of view, and the Highlord insisted she wear one to keep her skull from being caved in. Her adamant claims that a wider angle of view would prevent anyone from having the opportunity to bash her head in fell on deaf ears. “The vanguard have supplies now?”

“Aye,” he answered. “A couple days’ worth of rations, bandages and potions on every last blighter.”

“Finally,” she muttered, before lifting the helm and stuffing it over her head. The sounds of the battle simultaneously magnified and muffled as Ashen settled her helm in place. “Signal the others, Davinby. It’s time.”

“Milady,” the death knight confirmed as he saluted her. 

Ashen strode toward the improvised command center where the other officers waited, along with the archmage. Khadgar turned toward her, almost as if he sensed her approach, and shifted to make room for her in the group. She inclined her head in acknowledgement and saluted him briefly. 

Khadgar looked back at the portal and absently scrubbed a gloved hand over his chin. “Are you certain about this, Commander?” The bright blue gaze cut back to her as heavy brows drew together in concern. “The odds of a small charge breaking a hole through the line aren’t exactly in your favor.”

Ashen felt a slight smile twitch across her face, even though Khadgar couldn’t see it. “I think you’ll find this to be rather effective, Archmage. We’re ready. There was a…misunderstanding about the soldiers’ kits, but the forces to follow the charge into the portal are prepared. I’ll go through with a team of death knights—both Horde and Alliance,” she explained with a nod to Thrall and the tauren paladin, who inclined their heads to her in turn, “and create an initial opening the vanguard will widen. Staggering the assault by a few minutes will allow us to clear a staging point on the other side.”

There was a moment of silence as Khadgar studied her, rubbing at his jaw absently. “Very well,” he rumbled. “We’ll do this your way.”  
  
Ashen saluted him before drawing one of her blades and moving to signal the other death knights. “Ashen,” Khadgar called, halting her. She glanced back at him, and he inclined his head gravely. “Light go with you,” he said.

She held his gaze for a long moment. “Light be with us all, Archmage,” Ashen finally answered. Turning, she hefted her sword, feeling the draw on her magic as the runes lit in an icy blue. “Ebon Blade! To me!”  
  
*

Khadgar watched from his position as the elven death knight lifted a sword into the air and ignited the runes etched in the blade. She had a voice designed for the battlefield, he decided as she shouted commands. The death knights peeled away from various points in the staging area, from both Horde and Alliance forces, and folded in behind her as she started toward the portal. By the time the knights were at a run, they’d formed into a wedge, and Khadgar saw the runed blade lift again. A chill shot down his spine as Ashen’s voice reached him clearly. “Forward! For Azeroth!” The battle cry was echoed by the other death knights, and taken up by the soldiers holding the invading orcs at bay.

His heart lifted with hope as the blasted crater filled with the roar of heroes determined to protect their home. Khadgar watched as the death knights blurred, one by one, and then nearly vanished from sight altogether as their incorporeal forms sped through the lines and slammed into the orcs pouring through the portal. Suddenly solid, the wedge-shaped line of knights collapsed in from the edges, the center halting as the ends of the line drew even, then crossed inward as they charged. The Iron Horde found themselves caught in the middle, and mercilessly scythed down.

 _Rather effective,_ Khadgar marveled to himself as the lines met, formed a column, and vanished into the darkness of the portal. It had been more than ‘rather effective.’ The space around the portal was suddenly empty, and the Azerothian forces roared in renewed determination, and fell on the stragglers who’d made it to their lines.   
  
The next few minutes were the longest of Khadgar’s life. He had agreed to wait a few minutes while the death knights pushed through the portal and bought their forces some room to maneuver. Khadgar stared at the portal along with the Alliance and Horde leaders, tensely counting down, and hoping that the lack of orcs coming through the portal meant the charge had succeeded. It seemed an eternity had passed when Khadgar finally lifted Atiesh and gave the command to charge through the portal.

The archmage ran for the portal, surrounded by the roaring vanguard of a joint expedition he’d somehow landed command of. As the writhing, dark sheet of magic signifying the portal boundary neared, Khadgar suddenly thought of a group of children he’d passed in Stormwind a few weeks before. He’d watched them for a moment, marveling at the innocence of youth, but it was the singing game they’d been playing that came back to him now. One refrain in particular stood out. _Same song, second verse! Could be better, but it’s gonna be worse!_ Khadgar thought as the portal swallowed him.  
  
*


	2. Making it Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar's limerick turns out to be prophetic as Ashen finds out what's powering the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm not going to rehash every single moment of questing in Warlords of Draenor.

For a suicide mission, things started out well enough, in Ashen’s opinion. Her small force of knights emerged from the Dark Portal and fell upon some very shocked orcs. With surprise on their side, the death knights carved through the orcs near the portal like a hot knife through butter. They moved like a well-oiled machine, with the edges of the line shifting back to raise the fallen orcs as ghouls to fuel their assault.

Ashen had been braced for the Iron Horde’s readiness for the Ebon Blade’s tactics, but it quickly became clear the orcs were anything but ready. Garrosh had been in Northrend with Thrall for much of the campaign against the Lich King, though she’d never had direct dealings with him. As more ghouls leaped over the line she was leading, she absently decided the lack of preparation was probably due to Garrosh’s insanity. At least said insanity was in their favor, for a change. The right traps or a well-timed bombardment of the platform would have put their assault to a quick end.

“Keep pushing! Gain the stairs!” She shouted as she swapped to her broadsword. “For the Ebon Blade!” 

Her knights shouted in answer, pushing down the stairs of the towering platform. Ashen was amused to see more than one orc cut and run with an expression of abject terror at the echoing howls of her force—and the swarming ghouls. The Ebon Blade was quick to take advantage of the rapidly spreading panic.

*

Ashen climbed back to the platform before the Dark Portal when it became clear her forces would be able to clear the stairs. She was expecting Khadgar and the rest of the expedition’s forces through at any moment—though it was always difficult to judge timing on interdimensional portals. It was another reason she’d insisted on the staggered assault. She eyed the silent gateway for a moment, then turned and assessed her surroundings.

It was twilight on Draenor, with dual moons hanging low in the sky. The jungle spread out to the sides of the towering platform that housed the portal, treetops shifting in a sporadic breeze. The world was crawling with life; she could feel and practically hear it, even over the noise of the fighting. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this vast, teeming world. Ashen blinked the ghost images of the shattered world she knew away and looked back to the front.

The Iron Horde forces were arrayed in vast companies on approach to the portal on what she’d known as the Path of Glory in Outland. Her eyes narrowed briefly as she looked down at the fighting near the base of the stairs. The Iron Horde was still off balance, though that window was rapidly closing. 

As she turned to keep the portal within her peripheral vision, it rippled, then began disgorging Horde and Alliance forces. She exhaled in relief as the vanguard streamed past to take up positions and join her knights on the lower levels of the platform. Thrall and Vindicator Maraad raced past, both shouting orders and directing forces. She signaled Maraad, and the paladin paused, bending slightly to hear her over the tumult. He nodded in acknowledgment and hurried after Thrall. Ashen exchanged nods with Liadrin as the paladin moved to take up a position overlooking the battle, then looked back to the portal for Khadgar.

He emerged a few moments later, slowing from a run to a more considered pace. Ashen watched his blue eyes widen with wonder as he walked toward the top of the stairs. She gave him a moment to take it all in before approaching him. Her movement attracted Khadgar’s attention, and he beckoned her closer with a wave.

“Light,” he breathed. “So, this is the world they ruined in our timeline. Such a loss…I have no words.” His eyes met hers, the blue irises bright in the waning light. Khadgar blinked, visibly shaking off his thoughts. “Report, Commander.”

“We were able to push the Iron Horde down the stairs to the lower levels. Your arrival was well-timed; any further delay and the orcs would’ve recovered.” Khadgar nodded and motioned her to continue. Ashen considered for a moment before responding, and glanced away to watch Khadgar’s Warden protector take a place nearby to observe the battle. “There’s good news and bad news.”

“Let’s have the bad news,” Khadgar said as he reached out with his magic to get a feel of the portal and whatever was powering it. 

“Garrosh must’ve brought others through from Azeroth. The tanks are like the siege weaponry he used in Pandaria.” She watched Khadgar’s expression morph from concentration to dismay. “And I gather you just noticed we’re too late to close the portal by disrupting sacrifices.”

“Yes,” he muttered darkly. “It _feels_ like the other Dark Portal. I can feel the fel energy emanating from it—Light, I can practically taste it on the back of my tongue,” Khadgar told her as grimaced in distaste. “Yet it’s nothing like what I expected. I do feel a source of power, but…”

“It’s under our feet,” Ashen finished. Khadgar’s brows lifted and his gaze snapped to her in surprise. “I can feel it, too. There seem to be weaker ones down near the fighting, but I am uncertain. I can’t sense it from here, but I felt something on the lower level.”

“Makes the skin crawl, doesn’t it?” he asked drily as she shuddered slightly. “They’ve found some way to conduct the ritual without the actual ritual, then. An engine of sorts, perhaps? We need more information.”

“I’ve ordered the Ebon Blade to prioritize couriers and scouts, but so far they’ve not found what we need. I asked Maraad to add the SI:7 rogues to the search.”

“Join the search. I’m trusting you with this, Ashen. We don’t have much time,” Khadgar said gravely, holding her gaze. “Find out what’s powering this thing, and do what you must.”

Ashen saluted him briefly, fist to her chest, and started to turn away. 

“Wait,” Khadgar said suddenly. She glanced back at him curiously, to find him eyeing her suspiciously. “You said there was good news.”

It was almost an accusation. She grinned at him from behind her helm. “Due to the vagaries of interdimensional time travel, we got here before the tanks were in range. They also seem to be having some trouble getting those monsters moving.”

Khadgar scowled as she started down the stairs. The growing distance didn’t stop his muttering from reaching her, however. “We left at a point when the assault was in full swing and arrived when it was barely started. Light, I hate this timeway meddling nonsense…”

 _At least it was in our favor, this time,_ Ashen thought as ran toward the fighting, drawing her blades.

*

This Dark Portal was constructed differently than the one she remembered from Outland. The large platform before the portal was the roof of a chamber atop what amounted to pyramid of sorts. The forward face was split with stairs, leading down to a middle level, with even more stairs leading down to the ground from there. Ashen blocked an axe coming at her face in a downward slash, shunting the weapon to the side and stabbing the blade in her right hand deep into the orc’s gut. As she withdrew the blade, the orc took a stumbling step back, then slipped and vanished over the nearby edge. It was still a long way down from the middle level.

“Hansel, I need those chambers open!” Ashen shouted to the dwarven sapper she was defending. The Iron Horde pushed through a weak spot in the line nearby, and she found herself facing a charge from three orcs. She lifted a blade toward them and conjured a burst of icy spikes, which ripped into the unfortunate warriors and tossed them skyward in a torrent of surprisingly high-pitched screams. Two of the runes on the blade dimmed as she sprang forward to finish the orcs off. A rogue in SI:7 leathers beat her to it, slitting their throats as they landed and shoving them aside.

“Almost there!” The dwarf yelled back in his heavy brogue. “Ye canna rush art, lass!”

“Do it or die, dwarf!” She snapped, swiping her offhand blade across the face of the orc trying to hamstring Davinby. Her second pivoted gracefully, reversing his blade into the chest of another warrior, before using his free hand to snag the other orc by the armor and shove him over the side. Davinby freed his broadsword, and returned to a ready stance next to her. “The lines are collapsing. Set those charges off and get back up top!”

Ashen heard the sapper cursing her, the detonator, the Legion, and orcs in general. “It’s the bleeding air! Ye’re s’posed tae breathe it, not swim in it, but och, noooo. Let’s have wet air and charges that sweat like—like something that sweats a bleeding lot!”

“HANSEL!”

There were a couple of clicks followed by hissing, and a sharp burning smell. “Ahaha!” The dwarf bellowed, thrusting his fists skyward in triumph. “The boom is about tae be lowered!”

Ashen was already moving as the two sets of charges went off. The twin blasts sent tremors through the stone and shrapnel spraying through the air. Some of it pinged off her armor as she ran for the first opening, Davinby close behind her. A few more strides brought her to the improvised doorway, and she ducked inside, only to skid to a halt in mounting dismay.

There was a grate set into the ceiling of the small chamber to let a bit of light in, but most of the illumination came from the translucent blue specters of draenei and orcs that drifted through the room. Davinby edged past her, helmed face tilted up as he watched the figures drift by overhead. She didn’t need to see his expression to sense his grim reaction. “Looks like we found the sacrifices,” he grumbled finally.

Ashen nodded, her gaze on the magically bound, squirming figure hovering above a runed shaman stone placed in the room’s center. Cho’gall studied the death knights with both faces for a moment. “Free us. Destroy the relic,” the first head demanded.

“Crush! Smash!” The second head squealed. Ashen walked slowly toward the stone, and stopped within arm’s reach.

“To stop the Iron Horde, you must seek Gul’dan,” the first head said with a smirk as the second cackled agreement and chanted the warlock’s name.   
  
Ashen took a deep breath and reach over her shoulder to pull her two-handed rune blade from her back. Davinby’s face turned to her, his posture radiating unease, glowing gaze barely visible through the visor of his helm. The hunt for intelligence on the source of the portal’s power hadn’t taken long after she’d made her report to Khadgar, though she’d hoped the missive was mistaken. But here, hovering before them, was proof that members of the Shadow Council were fueling the portal. 

_Gul’dan is here,_ she thought.Orders were orders, and necessity was necessity; Ashen raised the blade, then brought it down sharply across the stone. Cho’gall dropped to the floor as the relic shattered, and gave her a mocking wave as he opened a familiar-looking, shadowy portal. A moment later, he was gone.

For a moment, the two death knights stared at the empty room in silence. Ashen finally glanced over to her brother-in-arms. “See to the stone in the other chamber. I’ll update the archmage.”

*

It was becoming increasingly clear that their time was running out. Ashen had to fight her way back to the stairs leading to the platform above, and was nearly skewered by friendlies more than once. When she finally made it through the knots of fighters, she looked up to the top of the platform to see Khadgar outlined in the glow of his magic like a beacon. A shout suddenly sounded from the upper level, and Ashen looked over her shoulder, before starting up the stairs in a run.

The tank was finally in firing range, and as she scrambled up the endless steps, Ashen heard Khadgar shouting at their forces. The area was suddenly bathed in the purple glow of arcane magic as the archmage created a shield around much of the platform and stairs. She glanced over her shoulder as the whistling noise became a shriek, and reflexively lifted an arm over her eyes and ducked as the projectile slammed into the barrier.

The death knight lost her footing, along with many of the others fighting on the stairs. Flame washed over the dome of arcane magic before boiling off into the darkening sky, and Ashen blinked as she pushed back to her feet. Another bloom of purple light made her gaze jerk upward.

“The portal is weakening! We’re almost done! Hold the line!” Khadgar ordered, gloved hands raised and face set in determination. An orb of arcane magic was slowly forming between his hands. “I’ll handle the tank!”

As she started scrambling up the steps once more, Ashen’s battlefield instincts flared to life. She tightened her grip on the hilts of her swords, gaze sweeping the stairs that separated her from the top of the platform. After a moment, she saw it again; a faint purple flicker too far away from Khadgar to be part of his spell. The light cast by the magic was reflecting off the exposed blade of an orc wrapped in shadows, steadily creeping toward the archmage—who was alone at the top of the stairs, attention firmly on his magic.

She pushed herself faster, cursing the steep, endless stairs. A thorough commander would’ve sent more than one assassin for the mage, so there were likely others she hadn’t seen. Gathering herself, Ashen leapt, blasting tendrils of shadowy, writhing magic from both fists in a wide cone toward Khadgar. Her senses expanded along the magic, feeling the assassin she’d seen as well as three others. Her will solidified the magic into ropes around them before yanking them to her.

The process took less than a second.

Ashen was falling from the apex of her desperate jump up the stairs when all four orcs slammed into her. She managed to lodge a blade in one of the orcs before they crashed into the stairs in a tangle of limbs and weapons. She felt her swords ripped away as the world spun and jerked around her. She could hear bones snapping, and her cries merged with those of the orcs she’d lassoed. Her armored body finally hit the stairs for a final time and slid.

An orc landed atop her, and she managed to get a knee up and lever him off. As the body tumbled to the side, and down the stairs, she was dismayed to see one of her blades stuck in him. Ashen started trying to lift herself up on an elbow, or at least turn so that her head wasn’t pointed down the stairs—

Her head slammed back against the stone as hands closed around her throat. Ashen struggled against the grip, lashing out with a booted foot and flailing for a grip on the orc’s arms. The hands around her neck shifted as the orc dodged her kick and shifted to pin her. She dug the clawed ends of her gauntlets into the muscled forearms and felt blood welling around her grip.

The worst part of it was that she couldn’t see a damn thing, thanks to the helmet. Her head was tilted back and pointed downhill. The slope was also a disadvantage for the assassin, who couldn’t get a solid grip on the struggling elf and keep his balance at the same time. She still had her broadsword, but it was strapped to her back. 

Most of the magic abilities the death knights possessed were controlled and activated with runes, etched on their blades or even their gear, in some cases. No active runes usually meant no magical abilities. However, Ashen had found that rage, desperation, and sheer willpower could overcome those limitations. Gritting her teeth and snarling, she reached for the core of cold, shadowy magic that bound her to existence, and channeled it straight into the arms of her attacker.

The orc’s growls became screams of agony as his wrists and forearms froze, and he released her in a frantic attempt to jerk away from her grip and deadly magic. Ashen held on and used the orc’s momentum to lever herself off the stairs. The combination of ice and shadow magic rendered the assassin’s arms brittle, and after she got her legs pulled under her center of gravity, she twisted her hands and shattered the orc’s forearms. 

Eyes rolling and face flecked with spittle and gore, the orc fell back against the stairs before desperately scrambling away from her. Ashen whipped her helm off and swung it with a cry of rage. The orc’s skull was no match for her anger and magically enhanced strength. There was a spray of blood and bone, and the assassin went limp against the stairs, Ashen’s helm stuck in the side of his head. 

The purple light bathing her struggle suddenly vanished, and she felt a burst of concentrated magic pass over her head. The night bloomed with light as a massive explosion sounded behind her. Ashen drew her broadsword, casting about for the last two orcs. One had shaken off the impact and was making his way toward Khadgar, and Ashen lunged up the steps after him. 

“Ashen! Behind you!” Khadgar boomed at her.

She pivoted to the side and swept her blade before her in a diagonal, and caught the wrist of another assassin. Ashen felt a surge of magic, and heard a wet squelch somewhere over her shoulder as Khadgar killed the other assassin. The orc facing the death knight blinked in shock at the stump of her wrist, then whimpered. The runes along the blade of Ashen’s sword flared to life as she plunged it through the orc’s heart. 

As the life faded from the last assassin’s eyes, she drew the waning energy in through her blade. Ashen gritted her teeth and let the body slide off her sword as the energy she’d leeched from the assassin healed her wounds. Several of her ribs shifted back into place with an unpleasant pop.

Ashen took a deep breath, and started up the stairs toward Khadgar. It wasn’t until she got close to him that she realized one side of his face was bloody, and gore splattered his armored robes. The dismay she felt must have been written on her face, because he held up his hands in a reassuring gesture.

“It’s not mine. Your intervention was timely,” Khadgar told her as he indicated the mess. He dropped his hands to his sides and strode over to meet her. “Thank you,” he said seriously. 

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and inclined her head in acknowledgement of his thanks. Khadgar opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to forestall him. “Where is your Warden?”

Khadgar’s brows drew together, then his gaze flicked to point behind Ashen’s right shoulder. “Here, apparently,” he said.

“Archmage!” Cordana rushed toward them. “I heard you calling to the Commander. Are you injured?” Ashen watched in rising ire as the Warden studied the slick of blood and globs of viscera misting the stairs where Khadgar had killed one of the assassins.

“Where were you?” Ashen demanded before the mage could respond.

Cordana stiffened, but turned to face the other elf. “I was observing the battle nearby.”

“What is the purpose of your assignment, Warden?” Ashen asked through her teeth. Khadgar shifted his weight as if he wished to interject, but wisely remained silent.

“I was ordered to preserve the life of Archmage Khadgar, and watch him for signs of corruption. I was authorized to act in the event he should fall to fel magic,” Cordana answered finally. 

Khadgar’s brows lifted and he slowly folded his arms over his chest. “We’ll discuss this another time,” he told the women.

Ashen glared at him. “This can’t wait.” Her glowing gaze snapped back to Cordana. “Your inattention nearly cost us everything. If I see so much as a scratch on this mage,” she growled, stabbing a finger toward Khadgar, “it better be because your dismembered corpse is at his feet and our enemies went through you to get to him.”

The Warden saluted her crisply. “I understand,” Cordana told her in a strained voice. Ashen stared at her for a moment, then gave a single nod of acceptance. Cordana wilted slightly, moved into position near Khadgar, and stealthed.

Ashen turned back to face the archmage to find him watching her. His eyes glowed faintly from the grip he was maintaining on his power, and it felt like a collision more than a meeting of gazes. The man looking back at her was far too perceptive.

Khadgar cleared his throat. “We’re about to be overrun. I’m going to issue the orders to prepare our retreat, but the portal must come down. You weakened it, somehow—”

“Yes,” Ashen said as she pulled a crumpled missive from her belt pouch. “Here.”

Ashen watched Khadgar’s brow furrow in consternation as he skimmed the contents of the parchment. He blew out a slow breath and looked back up at her. “Finish it, however you deem necessary. Everything is secondary to closing the portal.”

“Understood,” she said after a moment. 

Khadgar wiped a gloved hand over his face, then grimaced at the feel of the drying blood. “I know what you’re thinking, but we have to survive this before we can regret anything.”

One of Ashen’s brows flicked upward. “Not necessarily.” She snapped him a salute before turning to finish her task. As she retrieved her blades from the stairs and started to run, she could feel the weight of the mage’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played through the introduction to Warlords of Draenor a few times, and I never could get past the fact that Cordana was kneeling a ways off from Khadgar just watching the battle. I kept wondering, what if the Iron Horde sent assassins after priority targets?


	3. The Winter Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar tries to process everything that's happened since arriving on Draenor after leading the survivors away from the portal.

Khadgar propped Atiesh against the rock wall across from the mine shaft entrance he’d collapsed, then sat down and stretched his long legs out. He leaned his head back against the stone with a sigh, and closed his eyes. The mage was feeling the effects of heavy magic use, as well as the more physical fatigue of prolonged, desperate running for one’s life. Despite the headache and muscles that twitched in need of sleep, Khadgar felt…alive.

_All those years I spent wanting to go home,_ Khadgar thought in dark amusement, _and here I sit, relieved to be somewhere that isn’t Dalaran._

It wasn’t the dire circumstances that appealed to him. In truth, he’d never hungered for battle the way some warriors he’d met did. Having purpose was everything, though. And here, stranded in this wild, hostile place, Khadgar had purpose in spades. Close the portal, keep his forces alive, deal with the Iron Horde and Gul’dan, solve the riddle named Ashen…

Khadgar scowled and opened his eyes. _This is ridiculous. Why does everything circle back to her? I have better things to worry about than that particular walking contradiction._ He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw absently as he considered the situation—and the death knight—for a moment. _Well…perhaps that’s not entirely accurate._

Ashen was the highest-ranking Alliance survivor. Assuming they lived long enough to escape Tanaan—and Khadgar was making that assumption wholeheartedly—she’d be the logical choice to command the Alliance’s efforts against the Iron Horde. She was undeniably capable. She was also undeniably a death knight, and over the course of the battle, Khadgar had become uneasy with that fact. Could he trust her?

The archmage took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, and began to mentally backtrack through the path that had led them here.

*

Draenor looked nothing like the world he’d seen when he’d crossed the Dark Portal with Turalyon and Alleria. Despite the differences, there were enough similarities that old memories came screaming to the fore. Khadgar was left off-balance, and deeply wary.

He’d also noticed immediately that the platform and stairs were covered in blood stains, with the corpses of the fallen orcs conspicuously absent. After the death knight commander—who didn’t radiate the wrongness he remembered Gul’dan’s death knights having—delivered her report and turned away, Khadgar caught sight of what could only be ghouls moving through the fray. Even the ghouls didn’t have the feel of the original death knights’ evil.

It was impossible to reconcile his memories with his current perceptions. Ashen lit up his magical senses as if she were a walking beacon. Instead of revulsion, Khadgar felt drawn to what he sensed. It was disconcerting. It also didn’t help that when she displayed her wry sense of humor, he rather liked her. 

The death knights were a product of the Burning Legion’s scheming, created through evil magics and the slaughter of heroes. Ashen and her Ebon Blade compatriots had supposedly regained their free will, but could one ever really escape something like that? Were they susceptible to the influence of the Legion? Perhaps they’d be activated when the time was right, to devastate those who had believed them allies. If this version of Draenor mirrored the world from their timeline up until the arrival of Garrosh, then the Legion’s agents were here. 

Khadgar had shuffled those concerns to the back of his mind and forced himself to focus on the battle at hand. He’d soon been lost in the rhythm of the fight, shielding areas around his forces where the fighting was heaviest and lobbing explosive arcane magic at smaller cannons and mortars that got too close. He’d felt the portal weaken as the first tank drew into firing range, but his attention was firmly on his task.

Naturally, Khadgar had made himself a target with his efforts. It ran true to form, in his opinion, that he noticed the first assassin while he was seconds away from destroying the tank. As he thought about it, he still wasn’t sure which had sent the greater thrill of danger up his spine, the glimpse of a shadow-wrapped assassin, or the sudden burst of magic that swept toward him. Suddenly the assassin—and three more he hadn’t seen—were flying away from him. Khadgar felt a surge of triumph as he finished the spell form and launched the magic at the tank.

And of course, it just had to be her. With the tank out of the picture and the last of the assassins handily dispatched, Khadgar had turned his attention to the death knight who’d saved his life. He had known the moment she got a good look at him; Ashen’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly in an expression of deep concern. Warmth had flickered in his chest…in that moment he’d seen the woman, not the death knight. He was further torn in his perceptions of her after listening to her chastise Cordana; the depth of emotion Ashen’s voice had shaken him. That icy demeanor had cracked, and for a moment he’d really seen her; Ashen was deeply pained by the losses they were sustaining. She had been right, although possibly a touch harsh; once the portal was down, Khadgar was the only link the Azerothian forces had with their home and time.

There had been something in that glowing gaze of hers when it had finally turned back to him. Khadgar wasn’t the only one seeing personal demons amid the chaos of the battle. It was an odd moment, especially given the circumstances; he had the sense of _seeing_ —and being _seen_. The unexpected, mutual side-stepping of defenses was intimate, to say the least.

It was, in Khadgar’s estimation, incredibly awkward. 

Turning back to the life-threatening matters at hand had been a relief. At least, it was a relief until Khadgar finished reading the stolen letter and realized that Gul’dan was being used to power the portal. The grim look on Ashen’s face further derailed his musings about her nature as a death knight; he knew his expression also reflected that combination of resignation and dread. Khadgar knew in his bones that her reluctance to free the warlock was not feigned.

*

With a huff, Khadgar opened his eyes and attempted to settle into a more comfortable position against the decidedly uncomfortable stone. Giving that up as a lost cause, the archmage reached briefly with his magical senses to check the wards he’d placed on the rockfall blocking the entrance to the mine. Oddly enough, the Shattered Hand orcs hadn’t bothered trying to force their way through the collapse. Khadgar was concerned about the cost of the seeming reprieve.

The scouts he’d sent to clear the way through the mine, Ashen included, had yet to return. For now, there was nothing to do but wait. Khadgar’s thoughts turned inward again. 

*

The moment the portal closed, Khadgar shouted orders to retreat. He hated to leave soldiers behind to die, but knew there was no alternative. As the orders were relayed through the ranks in Common and Orcish, he saw a bright spot moving swiftly up the stairs toward him. The flickers of brightness resolved into Ashen’s glowing eyes as she reached him.

“Khadgar…I _freed_ Gul’dan,” Ashen blurted without preamble. 

Khadgar nodded and motioned her closer. “I suspected that might be necessary. It’s certainly not ideal…but _we_ freed him. You did the right thing, Commander.” He studied the death knight as she held his gaze for a long moment, then looked away with a grim twist of disgust across her lovely face. 

“It feels like a betrayal,” Ashen muttered.

“We’ll deal with Gul’dan,” Khadgar said firmly. “For now, we retreat and preserve the forces we have left. I need you to select a handful of soldiers and deal with anyone who follows us.”

Khadgar suspected that the surprised expression that flashed over Ashen’s face would be with him for a very long time. _She believes she’s expendable,_ he thought with a pang of dismay. The tiny flickers of emotion over her face and the movement of her gaze to the worst of the fighting confirmed it.

“Everyone, with me!” Khadgar shouted, hefting Atiesh and thrusting the carved raven atop it toward the jungle behind the silent portal. “Ashen, make sure we’re not followed. Select your soldiers. Everyone move!”

“Archmage,” Ashen confirmed, snapping a fist to her chest in salute. “Cordana, Maraad, you three,” the death knight barked as she pointed at a handful of nearby rogues. “You’re with me!”

Khadgar had been vaguely aware of the small group peeling away and blending into the dense foliage as he ran, followed by the remaining Horde and Alliance forces. 

*

Darkness had well and truly fallen by the time they began retreating through the jungle. The desperate flight took several hours, and was punctuated by Ashen and her small group mercilessly dispatching scouts and stragglers. Khadgar had used a charm to grant the group better night vision, but even with magical aid the journey was harrowing.

The jungle pressed close around them as they fled, concealing obstacles and enemies until they were practically on top of them. When the jungle finally began to thin, Khadgar realized they’d stumbled into an orc village. Going back was not an option, so he led them straight through.

There was a likely looking building on the outskirts of the village, guarded by a handful of bored looking orcs. Khadgar blasted the unfortunates out of existence with bursts of arcane magic, and led the way into the building’s interior. Two more orcs met their demise at his hands, and he paused in the center of the room for a moment, senses alert for other enemies.

Without being prompted, several of the rogues swept the small building, then unstealthed and saluted him. “All clear,” a tiny gnome rogue chirped.

“Good,” Khadgar said wearily. “Tend the wounded, and take a moment to rest. We won’t be able to stay here long.”

Horde and Alliance murmured assent as the ragtag group settled in. Khadgar looked around at the faces of the survivors, feeling a stab of grief at how few remained. There were enough of them that there was only space for the wounded to sit comfortably, but the group was only a fraction of the force that had accompanied him through the portal.

After several long, tense minutes, the first of Ashen’s group slipped through the door. Khadgar nodded to two rogues as they came in, limping and leaning on each other. Maraad slipped in after them, surprisingly quiet for a giant, plate wearing paladin with hooves. Several long moments passed without sign of Ashen or Cordana.

“Well, my friend,” Maraad said quietly as he moved to Khadgar’s side. “We yet live.”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Khadgar said drily. “Where is the rest of your party?”

“Ashen and the Warden are coming behind,” Maraad answered grimly. “One of the rogues was slain, and the Commander felt it necessary to conceal the body. She sent us ahead when we saw the village.”

“I see,” Khadgar said softly. He shoved his hair back from his forehead absently. “I don’t suppose you know which clan we’re facing here?”

“Bleeding Hollow,” Thrall rumbled from nearby. “I saw the markings around the village perimeter.”

A flicker of motion drew their gazes to the doorway as Ashen slipped inside, followed swiftly by Cordana. They were both splattered with gore and somewhat disheveled, but looked none the worse for wear otherwise. The women had been speaking softly, and paused inside the door. 

“I’m counting on you,” Ashen told Cordana, voice so soft Khadgar almost missed it.

Cordana’s helmed visage tilted in a nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll see it done, Commander. You have my word.”

Ashen nodded, and her gaze flicked to his. Khadgar studied her, then glanced to Cordana—who appeared to have regained her confident bearing. Deciding it was a puzzle for another time, Khadgar beckoned the death knight closer.

“Commander,” he greeted. “I’m relieved to see you still live.” Ashen tilted her head slightly and regarded him for a moment, but remained silent. “We need to keep moving, as I’m sure you’re aware. Up for some more action?”

“I’m fit to fight,” Ashen confirmed, expression impassive. 

“Good. I need you to create a distraction—keep the Bleeding Hollow busy enough that they don’t notice us moving through their holdings.” The archmage thought for a moment, then lifted a hand and carefully conjured a small gem between his thumb and forefinger. It glinted with fiery red and orange sparks in the dim room.

“Take this, and start a few fires. Be swift.”

Ashen carefully accepted the glowing, ember-like gem, her armored fingers brushing his. “I have a suggestion, if I may,” she murmured as she eyed the trinket appreciatively. 

“Of course.”

“Make three more of these. I need a draenei to come with me, and Thrall should select a couple of soldiers to bear the other two gems. We can cover more ground, and free the prisoners I saw.”

“Prisoners?” Maraad asked sharply.

Ashen’s artic blue gaze was bright in the dark room as she flicked it to the paladin. “Yes,” she answered. “There are cages full of draenei and orcs scattered throughout the village.”

Khadgar was already shaping tendrils of power into additional fire gems. “We certainly won’t leave them here, if we can avoid it. Be cautious, and be swift,” he admonished as he handed off the conjured items.

“This won’t take long,” Ashen assured him. “Be ready to move.”

*

Khadgar shifted again against the stone, and turned his head to watch a small group of orc and draenei children giggling softly together in a corner nearby. Most of the orc children had come from the cages Ashen had seen in the village. All the draenei children had been found here, in the mine. The corner of Khadgar’s mouth turned up in a small smile at another burst of giggles from the group.

The children were currently clustered around a small draenei boy named Luuka. The boy was holding his hands out, cupped slightly around the small glowing bird that occasionally fluttered and chirped softly at them. It was a magnificent piece of magic, intricately constructed with a masterful touch. The bird was formed of ice—which for some reason, didn’t radiate cold, with the glow emanating from the magic animating it. 

Khadgar almost wished he’d been the one to make it.

That honor belonged to the glowing-eyed, _distracting,_ walking contradiction that was currently slaughtering her way through a mine full of hostile orcs. As far as Khadgar was aware, the death knights raised by Arthas weren’t normally able to cast spells—aside from those they could activate with runes. They also had something of a reputation for having an emotional range than spanned from complete apathy to hate and rage, and no farther.

Yet, after they’d survived fighting in Kargath’s arena and had fled into the currently sealed mine, it had been a very perplexed Ashen that Luuka had run to. The boy had run to her and wrapped his spindly arms around her knees, knocking into her with enough force to make her wobble with her arms out to catch her balance.

It had been an oddity, but Khadgar was more concerned with directing the joint force and rescued prisoners. He’d selected scouts to find a path through the mine, then turned back toward Ashen intending to send her after them. However else he might have felt about death knights in general, Ashen’s resistance to the fatigue weighing everyone else down was a gift from the Light. 

When his gaze had landed on her, Khadgar found her crouched before the boy, talking to him softly. She’d removed her gauntlets, and as he watched, she lifted a hand and brushed Luuka’s tears away with graceful, gentle fingers. “The bad orcs keep taking people into the mines, and they don’t come out,” Luuka was telling her in a trembling voice. “Will you protect me from the bad orcs? I want to go home,” he sobbed.

“I will do my best to see you home,” Ashen had murmured, carefully wiping away another tear from the child’s face. “Are there some orcs that are…more ‘bad’ than the others?”

Luuka had nodded vigorously. “All the bad orcs are bad.” There was a brief pause while he hiccoughed. “But some are really _mean._ ”

Khadgar had moved closer to intervene, but hesitated as Ashen took one of Luuka’s hands in her own and favored him with a small smile. “Well, I think we can do something about the mean orcs. You know, I need your help with something,” she’d told Luuka in a conspiratorial whisper.

The child’s eyes had flown open wide. “I can help?” His small shoulders straightened as Ashen turned his hand palm up and gently flattened it with hers. 

“You can,” she confirmed. “I need you to hold out your hand just like this. I’m going to give you something, and I want you to keep it safe for me until I get back. Will you do this for me?”

“I won’t let you down!” Luuka told her fervently, tears forgotten. 

“I know you won’t,” Ashen had smilingly told the boy. Holding his small hand in her left, the death knight moved the fingers of her right hand over his palm. A cold glow surrounded her fingers, and Khadgar’s eyes widened along with Luuka’s as a small object began to materialize. 

“This is the winter bird,” Ashen had explained as she worked. “It endures in the harshest of places, through difficult times. It’s very small, but possesses great strength. The stories say the winter bird only sings in the presence of kindred spirits, and since few match the bird’s ability to endure, it rarely sings.”

The glow around Ashen’s fingers faded, and she stroked a finger over the bird’s head, her eyes on Luuka’s expression of wonder. Khadgar felt another brief flicker of magic as she spoke once more. “I think this one will sing for you. Why don’t you speak to it?”

Luuka beamed at her, then looked down at the silent, still bird. “Hello,” he said softly.

The bird began to glow a soft blue, then shook, as if ruffling its feathers. It hopped twice on Luuka’s palm, turning to face him. Khadgar inhaled sharply, surprised at the lifelike movement as the bird tilted its head and regarded the boy for a long moment. It chirped brightly, then trilled a brief series of notes. The haunting melody seemed to perfectly capture the magic Khadgar felt radiating from the elven woman.

Luuka’s face had lit with joy. “It sang for me!”

“I knew it would,” Ashen answered with a slight smile. Khadgar couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

Luuka looked back at her, his small, angular face serious. “I know the names of the mean orcs. The bad orcs are afraid of them, too. Ungra, Gurran, and…um…Ankova!”

Ashen had simply nodded, and turned her head slightly to meet Khadgar’s stare. He had nodded confirmation of her unspoken question. “Send Maladaar back for us when you’ve cleared a path through.”

The elf had acknowledged his orders wordlessly, and directed her attention back to the draenei boy. “There are some other children that came with us,” Ashen told him softly. “I imagine they’d like to meet the winter bird, too.”

“They can help me protect him,” Luuka had announced before skipping off with the bird carefully cradled in his hands. 

Silence had stretched between Khadgar and Ashen as he watched her pull her gauntlets on and stand. Her gaze met his briefly before she stole quietly from the chamber and into the mine. 

It had been close to an hour since then, in his estimation.

Khadgar shook his head, and reached into his belt pouch for a small carving he’d picked up at the Dark Portal. He held the small token up and turned it between gloved fingers, probing it with his magic. There was a faint trace of magic—more of an echo, really—from the figurine that was familiar. He couldn’t place it, though. It was every bit as perplexing as Ashen.

_What are you?_ Khadgar wondered, not sure if he meant the death knight, or the small carved wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and did some reading in an effort to get Khadgar's character right. This chapter fought me, and this is about half of what I had planned. It's Khadgar's fault, really.


	4. An Impact, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty long.

Khadgar was restlessly moving through the small antechamber near the blocked entrance, checking his wards, when Exarch Maladaar finally returned. The large draenei was smeared with dirt and spattered with blood, but moved as if he were uninjured. Khadgar breathed a silent sigh of relief as he strode to meet the other man. 

“Archmage, we must hurry,” Maladaar said as he motioned those near him to their feet. “We cleared the way, along with your Commander Ashen, but found the exit blocked by a spellweaver.”

The space filled with rustles and clanks as numerous clothed and armored figures roused without being prompted. Khadgar swept a gaze over the grim faces of the survivors, then motioned Maladaar to lead them through the mine. 

“You left Ashen to handle the caster?” Khadgar asked as they ran from their temporary camp and into the tunnels.

“To prevent the portal from opening, yes,” the draenei huffed.

Khadgar felt as if someone was squeezing his heart with a fist of ice. To survive through all of this, only to be slaughtered by summoned reinforcements…it was not to be borne. “Faster, go! The rest of you can catch up!” The archmage shouted as he and Maladaar broke into a sprint. 

The mine was massive, and the run seemed endless. The orcs had hollowed the earth to make soaring, lofty tunnels and chambers that were shored up with huge wooden pillars. Maladaar led him on a twisting, turning path that finally opened on an upper terrace, with a reinforced gate leading into a smaller chamber beyond. Khadgar felt the fight before he saw it; the oily aura of shadowy void magic crawled over his senses as he burst into the room.

The fight was all but over. Ashen was moving in with her two-handed blade raised for a deathblow as the orc scrambled backward. A swirling blue portal flickered into existence at the far end of the room, and Khadgar saw Ashen’s gaze snap to it before narrowing on the orc once more. Just before Ashen’s blade plunged through the orc’s chest and out his spine, he yelped, “Ner’zhul! Help me!”

Khadgar saw Ashen freeze, eyes wide, as the dead sorcerer slid off her blade. He tightened his grip on Atiesh as the surface of the portal rippled, then parted to reveal another orc. The newcomer was just past his prime, by Khadgar’s estimation, rather than elderly as the Ner’zhul he remembered had been. But he would have recognized that painted death’s head mask and white eyes anywhere. Ner’zhul swept Ashen, Khadgar, and the small band with a contemptuous gaze.

“Pathetic,” the orc growled, looking briefly down at his freshly slaughtered underling. “I should thank you, outsider. You did me a favor by removing this weakling.” With a grating chuckle, the shaman lifted a hand as swirling dark magic gathered about him. “I’ll make your deaths swift.”

“Khadgar! Get us out of here!” Thrall shouted.

Khadgar gritted his teeth and started teleporting the group out, or toward what he hoped was out, as dirt and rock began to fall from the rumbling ceiling. His concentration was nearly broken by the cry of rage that preceded a glowing blue streak of motion toward Ner’zhul. 

Ashen charged toward the orc, blades first, hurling threats as she went. Ner’zhul stopped casting to hastily raise a barrier of writhing, deep purple magic. The death knight didn’t slow, stabbing her blades into the shield viciously enough to make the shaman retreat a couple of steps in concern. “You! Face me, you spineless coward! I will carve everything you cost me out of your worthless hide, orc!”

Khadgar teleported the last of the group away, and reached to wrap the spell around the enraged death knight as rock continued to fall around him. The magic peeled away from her, leaving him gaping for a moment in consternation.

“I will paint your sodding mask red with your blood and tie you to Hellfire Citadel with your guts!” Ashen railed at the orc, twisting her blades viciously in the shield. Icy lines traced outward from the blades, then flared with bright blue light. Runes raced across the shield for a moment, then the whole thing rippled. With a yell of effort, Ashen swept her swords apart, and the barrier shattered with a sound like breaking glass.

“Ashen!” Khadgar shouted in mounting dismay as his magic bounced off her again. 

Ner’zhul scrambled backward and all but fell through the portal as his barrier fell. Khadgar released the teleportation spell and lunged after Ashen, somehow managing to hook his right arm around her waist before she could dive through the portal after the orc. He used his momentum to swing her away from the portal and blocked her path with Atiesh, then teleported them both as the ceiling gave way. 

Khadgar could still hear the rumbling crackle of falling rock several moments later as he rematerialized on the surface with Ashen. For a long moment, neither of them moved, the only sound that of their harsh breathing. Khadgar took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly in relief. His shoulders rounded and his head dipped slightly with the motion, and a jolt went through him as his chin brushed against Ashen’s hair.

Ashen was rigid, her swords still held out and up slightly. Khadgar could feel her breathing, and was surprised to notice she radiated body heat. The blades trembled before her for a couple more moments, then slowly lowered. She turned her head slightly, and the tip of one of her ears brushed his jaw, sending another zing of something he didn’t care to identify down his spine. Abruptly, he realized two things: he still had an arm wrapped firmly around her, and he had pulled her back against his body.

Khadgar released her like she was burning him, then swallowed and hoped the heat climbing up his neck wouldn’t reach his face. “That was close,” he remarked mildly.

*

The return of sanity hit Ashen harder than one of the falling rocks from the mine, and pained her almost as much. She could feel herself shaking with a combination of lingering rage, adrenalin, grief…and shame. Arthas had been directly responsible for her current state of existence, but _everything_ went back to Ner’zhul. She had known when she accepted the assignment to Draenor from her king that it was possible she’d encounter some of the more monstrous specters of Azeroth’s past.

She had known, and she had still turned into a screeching banshee at the sight of Ner’zhul, abandoned her senses and quite possibly endangered her mission. The lapse tasted like failure, and there was nothing she loathed more. Ashen didn’t notice Khadgar’s proximity or hasty withdrawal. Her mind was stuck on one refrain: _I would have followed Ner’zhul through that portal if Khadgar hadn’t stopped me._

Everything had been too close, with old wounds open and raw. Ner’zhul hadn’t been salt in those wounds, he’d been a whole damned quarry.

Khadgar spoke again, his rich voice piercing her fog of dismay. “I wasn’t entirely certain that would work, actually.”

Ashen blinked, then looked at him as he stepped up beside her. The admission both surprised and amused her. She lifted a brow at him as the corner of her mouth curled up in a wry half-smile. “Which part? Teleporting blind through solid rock, or saving me from myself?”

Khadgar’s brows lifted as his gaze flicked to hers, then moved briefly over her face. The mage seemed to recognize the apology, and his expression warmed; his eyes lit with mirth and crinkled around the corners as a slow smile spread over his face. His voice was laced with laughter when he answered, “Both.”

The sound of footsteps and concerned voices drew their gazes, and in a moment of unspoken camaraderie, Ashen and Khadgar moved down the hill toward the remainder of their forces. A tall female draenei dashed to Ashen and surprised her by hugging her tightly.

“You’re alive! My friend, I am glad you made it,” Yrel exclaimed as she stepped back and eyed the death knight critically. “I was concerned when you did not appear with the rest of us.”

Ashen patted the other woman’s hand awkwardly, casting about for some kind of response as Yrel released her arm. 

Khadgar came to her rescue. “None the worse for wear, as you can see. We were simply delayed for a moment.” His gaze met hers for a moment, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Ashen cringed inside. She could almost hear Khadgar replaying her shouted commentary as he fought down an amused smirk. Deciding to ignore that mess for the time being, she swept a critical gaze over their surroundings and listened with half an ear as Maraad and an orc shaman named Drek’Thar started talking to Khadgar. 

The archmage had teleported them out of the mine and deposited them on a rise overlooking a foundry. A path ran down from their position to a set of forges, with racks of weapons in various stages of completion scattered around them. There were a couple of huts near those, serving as supply sheds and armories, she figured. To the left, the land sloped down further into a basin of sorts, before rising sharply toward more buildings in the distance. A glance over her shoulder revealed a dam; that explained the relatively empty expanse.

Ashen glanced back to the group to find Khadgar eyeing the dam and rubbing his chin, eyes gleaming. There was something about that look that meant trouble, she was almost certain.

“We are exposed here,” Vindicator Maraad told Khadgar, his voice filled with concern. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s not ideal, I agree,” Khadgar replied. “We need to keep moving. I have an idea that might buy us some time.”

“We should arm the prisoners we rescued,” Maraad proposed as he motioned to the group crouching nearby in an attempt to stay out of sight. “Given weapons, they will fight as fiercely as any of us.”

“Yes,” Drek’Thar rumbled, blind gaze on the paladin. “The Iron Horde owes us all a large debt of blood. There is another matter we should attend while we are here,” the shaman continued, turning his sightless gaze toward Khadgar.

Ashen folded her arms and turned to face the group, giving the discussion her full attention, as Khadgar nodded. “I’m listening.”

“I sense a member of my clan somewhere nearby,” Drek’Thar explained with an expansive gesture toward the sharp rise and buildings beyond the dam. “I know he is close, but I cannot pinpoint his location. The elements are in turmoil,” he muttered uneasily.

Ashen watched as Khadgar’s brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he glanced to her. “Do you have anything to add, Commander? Your insight would be welcome.”

The death knight nodded. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Ner’zhul reported that he killed us. The fact that we haven’t been swarmed with Iron Horde yet indicates we’ve got a few minutes before this gets ugly. We’ll make the most of it,” Ashen told him, as she strode toward the rest of the survivors. “Maraad, take a team and steal weapons from the forge. Leave me the rogues, if you would.”

“As you say, Commander,” the towering paladin confirmed as he split away from their small group to choose his raiding party.

Khadgar and Drek’Thar followed her, stopping nearby as she halted before the ragtag group. The Alliance and Horde forces were watching her in silence, and Ashen swept them with her gaze briefly. During the madness of the battle at the portal and the desperate flight through the jungle, the lines that normally separated them had blurred. The races were scattered throughout the group, instead of arranged in Alliance or Horde oriented clumps. It was a promising sign.

“I need volunteers for stealth missions,” Ashen told the group. “Rogues, and druids, preferably, but I won’t say no to hunters familiar with camouflage if numbers are lacking.”

Several members of the group stood and made their way forward. Ashen was pleased to see more volunteers than she felt she needed. “Thank you,” she said seriously, bowing her head in respect to the members of both factions before her. All of them saluted her, expressions fierce with determination. 

“We’ll do this in three teams of three. You three,” she said as she indicated the first three volunteers, “Will scout forward past the rise. I want confirmation of our location, and a detailed report on the area. Look for us at the top of the rise. Go.”

The first group, two rogues and a druid shifted into cat form, stealthed and loped away as Ashen turned to the next three volunteers. “You will report to Drek’Thar for a target description. Locate the target, and free him if possible. Rendezvous on the rise. Go.” 

Drek’Thar bowed slightly to Ashen in thanks as he moved away, the second group in tow. Ashen’s glowing gaze settled on the last three scouts. “Now, for your part. I want you to scour the area and bring back any schematics you find for the siege weaponry we saw while fighting at the Dark Portal. If I am correct, we’re near the Path of Glory. Bring anything you find to Thaelin Darkanvil. Go.”

Cordana Felsong spoke from beside Khadgar, who started slightly in surprise. “Are you sure it’s wise to divide our group like this? We’re few enough in number already.”

“Wise or not, I don’t see that we have much choice,” Khadgar replied in a tone meant to squelch dissent. “Ashen is right—we have precious little time.”

“We need to move as soon as Maraad returns with the weapons,” Ashen agreed. “I’m surprised the alarm hasn’t already been sounded—”

“We’ll take what we can get, at this point,” Khadgar told her grimly. “You will command our fight up the rise, Ashen. Take Cordana with you, when the fighting starts. Get me near the dam, then lead our group to high ground and await my call.”

Ashen studied him for a long moment, then nodded briefly. “I’ll see it done.” 

Her gaze moved away from Khadgar and down to the forges, where she could see Maraad swinging his hammer in great, crushing arcs, felling orcs. Several members of his raiding party were scrambling back up the path with their arms full of stolen weaponry. Ashen saw Maraad backing toward the path, hammer at the ready, and turned away to issue last minute orders.

“Healers, finish up, we’re about to move. Get your weapons, then form ranks around the injured, unarmed, and children,” Ashen instructed the former prisoners, who nodded. “If you don’t get a weapon, you carry a child. Our goal is not vengeance—not today. I give you my word that this is far from over. Our time, our justice, _will_ come.”

“We follow your lead, Commander,” Yrel told Ashen firmly. 

The death knight inclined her head slightly. “The rest of you form ranks on the outside of the group. You will clear the way up the slope. Seek the highest ground and dig in. Cordana, Liadrin, Maraad and I will escort Khadgar to the dam, then rejoin you.”

Maraad arrived with his hammer slung across his shoulders in time to hear her last order, and nodded his understanding. The rescued prisoners were passing weapons around, and sorting who would fight and who would carry children. Ashen gave them a couple more moments to settle, then spoke.

“Questions?”

Ashen was met with tense silence, and nodded to them after a moment. “Thrall will command the charge up the rise until our groups rejoin. Let’s move.”

Thrall lifted his hammer and led the charge down the hill with a roar of defiance, which was quickly echoed by the rest of the survivors. Ashen motioned her small group away, and they quickly formed a loose circle around Khadgar to make their run at the dam. Fortunately, there were only a few laborers near the dam at a tunnel leading out of the mine they’d escaped. 

Ashen and her companions cut through the orcs easily enough, and Khadgar took a position on a small hill near the dam. She saw him plant Atiesh in the ground and brace himself before lifting his gloved hands and calling his magic. “I’ve got this! Get them out of here!”  
  
More orcs were pouring down the slope past the flank of the retreating survivors and into the basin, toward her small group and the archmage. Ashen shouted to be heard over the din. “Split up! Get their attention and come to me! We’ll drag them uphill with us.”

The next few minutes were a blur as Ashen made frantic attempts to control the flow of the battle. Cordana shadowed her, dispatching any orc foolish enough to get too close, as Ashen used her magic to yank enemies toward herself. Conjured spikes of shadowy ice erupted from the ground and zig zags, tossing orcs in the air. Liadrin and Maraad ran past and up the hill, and Ashen decided that at least they’d succeeded in taking the focus away from Khadgar. 

The small group ran for the relative safety of the rest of the small army, with a mass of Iron Horde in pursuit. _Where did they even come from?_ Ashen wondered as she exhausted her runes with another series of devastating ice traps while backing up the hill. Maraad moved to her side, buying her a moment to breathe, and she looked back into the basin.

Ashen was just in time to see Khadgar clench his raised hand into a fist, drawing three massive orbs of magic closer together as they whirled over his head. “Get to high ground! _NOW!”_ The archmage roared as the spheres of fire, ice, and arcane magic merged. With a triumphant shout, he launched the magic at the center of the dam.

“Run!” Ashen commanded, her urgency broadcasting her voice through the group. “Go, don’t stop!”

“Commander, the orcs!” Liadrin yelled back at her, as she skewered one and kicked him off her blade.

“I have them, go!” Ashen shot uphill after her forces as she heard the dam wall crack. “Maraad! Anchor me!”

The massive paladin skidded to a stop and turned to meet her as she sheathed her swords in favor of the broadsword. She ignited the runes down the length of the blade and turned to face the basin, and Maraad wrapped an arm around her middle and braced himself. Ashen swung the point of the sword skyward, unleashing a torrent of dark, ropy magic.

With a strained shout, she tightened the magic on all the Iron Horde orcs—those charging toward her and those harassing her forces up the hill—and whipped them into a huge cluster over her head. They hung for a split second before she used the magic to launch them down into the basin—just as the dam broke.

Even with Maraad trying to hold her in place, they’d been pulled a couple of feet downhill, and the paladin shifted his hold to her belt as he scrambled backward. With a pained grunt, Ashen regained her balance and ran with him. The roar of the water was the only sound in the humid, mid-morning haze. 

Ashen’s relief at escaping the water melted away as she realized she didn’t see a distinctive head of silver hair and a raven-topped staff among the crowd that reached out to pull them to safety. Cordana nearly knocked Ashen off her feet, confirming her worst fears. 

“We have to find the archmage!” The Warden cried as she tried to scramble past the death knight.

Ashen forced herself to ignore her sudden nausea and lunged sideways into Cordana’s path. “Cordana, stop!”

“Move!” Cordana demanded, attempting to dodge past.

The death knight gritted her teeth and let go of her blade in favor of catching the other woman by her armor. “No!” She shouted back, trying to halt the Warden’s advance. “There’s _nothing_ we can do for him!” Ashen yelled in Cordana’s face as she shook her.

“No, I…” Cordana trailed off in a whisper.

Ashen took a deep breath, relieved that the Warden had gone still. “If he was unable to teleport away, there’s nothing we can do, Cordana. You know this.” Ashen released her grip when she was certain the Warden wouldn’t dive headfirst, armor and all, into the rushing water below. 

“We can’t stay here,” Ashen continued, looking across the assembled faces. “Go to the top of the rise. We’ll…give Khadgar another moment or two.”

They obeyed slowly, and Ashen picked up her blade and strapped it back in place. With a deep breath, she looked out at the torrent the mage had unleashed. The dam had shattered, and the force of the water and the chunks of stone had swept the forges and outbuildings away. Of the orcs she’d tossed into the path of the deluge, there was no sign.

Ashen didn’t really expect to find anything, but she extended her magical senses for signs of the archmage. The power of the blast was still drifting through the floodplain in eddies and whorls, but she didn’t feel the distinctive locus of magic she’d come to recognize as Khadgar. She was about to turn away when the air above her rippled.

Something large and heavy slammed into her, and the world went black.

*

Khadgar meant to teleport to his forces the moment he’d launched the magical bomb at the dam. He gripped Atiesh and lifted a hand, ready to activate the spell to move to the nearby rise, only to have nothing happen. The fully formed spell just sort of fizzled away, leaving him with the mental equivalent of feeling wet sand spurt through his fingers when he tried to clench a fist around it. To say that it shouldn’t have happened was something of a vast understatement.

The archmage cursed and cast a barrier around himself as his carefully crafted bomb slammed into the dam with a boom that shook the basin floor. The cracks spread through the wall rapidly, and Khadgar could see and hear the water starting to hiss through holes. He swallowed his rising panic and cast his senses for something he could use as an anchor, but mostly what he sensed was fallout from his own spellcraft. 

The dam gave way.

Pushing through the interference with a burst of sheer, desperate willpower, Khadgar felt a concentration of magic, and reached for it—just as the water slammed into his barrier. His concentration shattered as he was swept off his feet and carried with the torrent. The barrier saved his life, but being tossed about in a raging flood inside a transparent bubble made a corner of his mind wish it hadn’t.

_Focus or die, Khadgar,_ he told himself as he took a deep breath and latched on to the magic he sensed nearby. This time the spell took hold, though it was like fighting through frozen molasses. The barrier collapsed and the mage was slammed by the water as he dematerialized.

Despite the fact that only about three seconds had passed between the failure of the first spell and Khadgar’s success, it was nearly two minutes before the magic dumped him in midair, right above the magic he’d been aiming for. 

Khadgar slammed into Ashen, along with a few hundred gallons of water, a couple of fish, and some obnoxiously malodorous weeds. The impact was hard enough that they bounced apart and slid uphill. For several long moments, Khadgar’s existence was limited to pain and desperate gulps of air.

He spluttered and coughed as awareness returned, and a moment later, he painfully pushed up on an elbow and craned his neck at the sound of someone else coughing. Ashen was within arm’s reach, splattered with mud and with weeds stuck to her armor. Shifting to his side, Khadgar leaned over her, intending to see if she was alright.

Unfortunately, the near-death experience caught up with him right about the time she stirred back to consciousness. Khadgar tried, and failed, to fight down a slightly manic, toothy grin as he pinched the end of a plant that had landed across the death knight’s eyes. He lifted it enough to expose one eye, which opened and focused on him as the brow above it drew down sharply.

It hurt to breathe, and Khadgar was almost certain he’d cracked a rib and was covered in bruises. But he was quite miraculously, giddily alive. “Commander,” he greeted, waggling his brows at her. “Fancy _bumping_ into you here.”

If looks could kill, Khadgar figured he’d be quite dead right about now. It just made everything funnier. “Come here often? I do enjoy our little _run-ins_ , you know,” he continued.

Ashen got a hand up and thumped him solidly in the chest. “What has the Kirin Tor been feeding you? You’re so heavy and smell so rank I thought someone had hit me with an orc. A _dead_ one,” she snapped. 

Khadgar’s grin widened; he had the sense that she was relieved to see him, angry, and reluctantly amused. “Nice to know I made an _impact_ ,” he chortled as he dropped the end of the weed, letting it smack her across the eyes again. “Don’t be a _wet blanket_ , Commander.”

Maraad’s snort of hastily smothered laughter made Khadgar look up. The paladin offered him a hand, and Khadgar clasped it with a grin, and shoved his way to his feet. The paladin thumped him on the shoulder and offered a hand to Ashen, and the archmage turned away to head up the hill. Cordana was headed his way, he noted with a flicker of resignation, along with Thrall and a couple of others.

“Khadgar,” Ashen called.

He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Yes, Comma—”

The weed hit his open mouth, and he grimaced, spat, and desperately batted the awful thing away. “PFAUGH!” It smelled horrible and it _tasted_ even worse. Khadgar hacked and sputtered in disgust, and scrubbed the back of a gloved hand across his mouth.

None of that stopped his bright blue gaze from tracking Ashen as she sauntered past without so much as a glance at him. Unless he was mistaken, she was smiling slightly. “Warden,” Ashen said archly, “He’s all yours.”

Khadgar sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashen has a temper, and Khadgar loves his puns. To quote a friend of mine, he's adorkable.


	5. An Impact, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would be shorter than part one. I was mistaken.

Ashen strode up the hill toward a waiting ring of scouts, making squelching noises with every step. Her relief at seeing Khadgar appear alive and relatively unharmed was tempered by the pounding behind her eyes from his ‘impact’. Well, that and the smell. It was bad enough that she could almost see it drifting around her armor like a cloud. 

The odor of dank rot went before her, parting the group of survivors like a proclamation from on high. Ashen figured the expression on her face was the only thing that kept the grimacing soldiers silent. Her luck held out until the two dwarves, Hansel and Thaelin, joined the scouts waiting for her.

“Oh, phew,” Hansel groaned as he waved his hands at her in a shooing motion. “Commander, yeh—” Hansel bent double with laughter and slapped his knee. “Yeh, och, Commander,” he snickered. “Yeh smell like somethin’ me mum would cook after a three-day bender, thinkin’ it were a hangover cure.”

“Yeh got a death wish, man?” Thaelin asked as he thumped the other dwarf on the back of the head.

“Kindly direct all of your complaints to the archmage, and sod off,” Ashen told him, with a stab of a finger at his eyes. Hansel tried and failed to stifle his laughter, and saluted her. 

“Right, moving on,” Ashen sighed as she directed her gaze to the group of waiting scouts. “What do we have?”

A small gnome with a shock of lavender hair held up a set of rolled parchments. “We found several plans for weapons and siege engines, Commander,” the rogue chirped with an almost obscene amount of cheer. 

“I’ll take those,” Thaelin said as he swiped them and carefully started unrolling the mess. “Gimme about five minutes, lass,” the engineer told Ashen absently.

“Excellent work,” the death knight praised the gnome, who beamed. A blood elf with a bow poking over one shoulder cleared his throat, and her gaze snapped to him.

“Commander, if I may,” the ranger began with a salute. 

Ashen studied him for a moment, then gestured her permission. The blood elf was of average height and build for his people, with a face that was almost too pretty and glowing green eyes. Close-cropped, red-gold hair stuck up all over his head like points of flame. 

“We ran into some trouble scouting ahead, but we have the information you requested. We also located Drek’Thar’s clansman.” The ranger sank gracefully to one knee and began drawing in the dirt with a forefinger.

“Here’s our current position,” he explained as he marked a spot. He drew a line past it, then poked a few dots near their indicated position for buildings. “This road does lead to the Path of Glory, as you suspected,” he continued.

Ashen sank into a crouch next to him. “Did you make it to the Path, Ranger…?”

“Len’thalar, Commander. And yes, we did,” he told her with a grin. “The largest of the tanks is still there, just parked in the middle of the road. It’s guarded, but only by a couple of orcs with rifles,” Len’thalar continued as he updated his drawing. “This path continues to a dock. If we can make it there, it looks like there are ships we can steal.”

Ashen let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “It’s about time we had some good news.” Her glowing gaze met the ranger’s. “You and your group may have just saved us all. Well done.”

“Ga’nar—er, the clansman of Drek’Thar’s, told us where to find his shackle key. We’ll have to break into one of the buildings, here, and take it from the overseer. Shouldn’t be a problem…now that we’re done being sneaky,” Len’thalar quipped with another grin. 

“Since you’ve spoken with this Ga’nar already, take care of it. Pick your team and go. Report to Drek’Thar when you’re done. But first, tell the archmage what you found while scouting,” Ashen ordered.

“Of course,” the ranger confirmed smoothly as he rose and moved away. 

Ashen stood, and looked down at Hansel, who offered her a cheeky grin. “How would you like to redeem yourself, my mouthy friend?”

“Depends on what yeh got in mind, lass,” Hansel retorted. 

“I think you’ll like this,” Ashen replied in amusement. “I want to see lots of explosions. Pick targets at your discretion.”

The dwarf mimed a swoon with his hands over his heart. “A lass after me own heart! Commander, if yeh werena s’tall, I’d—” Thaelin thumped him against the back of the head without looking up from the plans he was studying, and Ashen let out a huff of laughter.

“Ignore this idiot, if yeh would,” Thaelin muttered. “Pretty-boy pointy ears said somethin’ about a really big tank?”

“Yes, he did,” Ashen confirmed as the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

“I think I got the plans fer it,” the dwarf told her as he rolled up one of the papers and met her gaze. “They’re callin’ it the Worldbreaker, an’ it looks like it fires those iron star thingers. We could knock down the portal with somethin’ that big.”

“Can you figure out how to work it from those?” She asked with a motion toward the plans the engineer clutched in one meaty fist.

“Aye, I think so,” Thaelin answered. “Nothin’s sure, ‘course, but it’s worth a looksee.”

“Good. You’re with me, then.” As the dwarf nodded, Ashen felt a prickle of awareness along her spine, and turned her head to find Khadgar was paused nearby, watching her. 

“Commander.” Khadgar strode toward her, still looking a bit like a drowned rat in sodden robes. “The end is in sight, Light willing,” he said softly, earlier humor gone. 

She nodded once. “So it would seem. I’m taking Thaelin to see if we can do something permanent about the portal. Hold here, and make some noise, if you would. The longer we can give Thaelin with the tank before they notice our intentions, the better off we’ll be.”

Khadgar glanced back to her briefly from his study of the crude map Len’thalar had drawn. “I’ll send Maraad to add to the general chaos in the area. We’ll follow you once the young ranger has secured Ga’nar’s release.”

“Understood. Hansel! When you’re ready,” Ashen called. The dark iron dwarf gave her a thumbs up and turned back to a group of rogues he’d conscripted as assistants. Her gaze moved to Thaelin, who saluted her with the plans.

“All set, Commander. I’m lookin’ forward tae breakin’ that damn thing,” Thaelin trailed off in a mutter.

Ashen pulled her broadsword from her back and gestured Thaelin to the path. Khadgar cleared his throat behind her, and she glanced back to him. He held her gaze for a long moment, some sort of conflict visible in his eyes, then nodded to her briefly.

“Keep yourself in one piece, Commander,” Khadgar said finally.

Ashen saluted him silently, then started up the path with Thaelin at an easy lope.

*

“I thought he said only a couple orcs with rifles,” Thaelin hissed from Ashen’s left. They were stretched out on their stomachs, looking up the hill a what could only be the Worldbreaker. Ashen absently tapped her fingers on the hilt of her broadsword as she tilted her head for a better viewing angle from beneath the wagon where they were hiding.

“That’s a Gronn. With a _cannon,_ ” the engineer continued.

“Shh,” Ashen admonished, watching the orc snipers amble about the base of the tank. They looked bored, and the death knight was fairly certain the orc manning the cannon on the Gronn’s shoulder was asleep. There wasn’t a good way to handle it; by the time she dispatched the two snipers, the gunner and Gronn would be awake…and dangerous.

_This is going to hurt,_ Ashen thought. _I guess I can only die twice._

“I’ll get their attention,” she whispered. “You get up there and get to work as soon as they’re after me.”

“Commander—”

“That’s an order, Thaelin.”

The dwarf eyed her for a long moment, eyes glowing like coals in the shadow of the wagon. “Aye, Commander,” he muttered grudgingly.

Ashen carefully backed out from under the wagon, and pulled her sword to her. She peered around the end of the wagon, waiting for the pacing orcs to near each other. They were sloppy; every so often the snipers were within a hand’s width of each other. If she timed it right, she could get them both—hopefully before the Gronn squished her.

Her heart sped up as she crept from behind the wagon with her weapon ready. As the snipers got within a step of each other, Ashen moved. A flicker of power and a sidestep through the veil between worlds had her racing forward, temporarily ghostly. The orcs completed their stride just as her boots hit the ground and her form solidified.

The first one met death with an expression of surprise. Ashen took advantage of the reach afforded her by the broadsword, drawing the point of the blade across the orc’s throat. The sniper dropped in a spray of blood, hands clutching ineffectually at the mortal wound. 

The second sniper fared better. As the first fell to Ashen’s advance, the second stepped backward and brought his long rifle to bear. She let go of her blade with her right hand, and used her left to swing the sword back sharply. With a sharp clang and spray of sparks, the barrel of the rifle jerked sideways a moment before the orc pulled the trigger. One shot was all he got; she slashed again and opened the orc in a diagonal from one hip to a point just under the opposite clavicle.

The Gronn roared, and Ashen heard the whir of a cannon being brought to bear. The gunner started shouting at the beast, who took a swipe at her. Ashen ran for all she was worth back toward the wagon, leading the creature away from the tank. Sprays of earth spurted into the air alongside her as the gunner opened up, and she made a desperate dive behind the wagon.

It wasn’t much of an obstacle for the Gronn, but it didn’t have to be. The orc shouted curses as chunks of wood flew off the wagon, and Ashen waited for the space of a heartbeat for the gun to fall silent. When it did, she vaulted up onto the bed of the wagon and extended her left hand toward the gunner. A tendril of magic wrapped around the orc’s throat, and she clenched her fist, viciously yanking. 

The enraged Gronn barely noticed the gunner fall after Ashen snapped his neck. It was focused on catching her. Ashen scrambled to get off the wagon, and might have made it if her boot hadn’t gone through a hole in the bed. She had just enough time to curse before the Gronn wrapped a huge hand around her and jerked her skyward.

Ashen yelped as the Gronn smashed the wagon with its free hand, sending shards exploding in all directions. The muscles and tendons in her left leg screamed in protest at the pull from being yanked upward and having a wagon smashed off her foot. The Gronn shook her, sending the remaining boards clinging to her boot flying and causing her to clutch at one of its fingers with her left arm. Somehow, Ashen managed to keep hold of the hilt of her sword with her right hand.

The Gronn stopped shaking her for a moment, but her relief was short lived. It shifted its grasp around her middle, then squeezed. Ashen screamed as her armor crumpled and some of her ribs broke. Moving made the pain worse, but instinct had her wriggling in the Gronn’s fist trying to get it to let go. 

Curious at the screeching coming from such a tiny thing, the Gronn loosened its grip slightly and lifted the death knight to eye level. Ashen was gasping in agony, hanging limply inside the Gronn’s fist. When she made no sudden moves, the enormous beast brought her even closer. 

With a deep breath, Ashen brought her sword up and drove it through the Gronn’s single eye, firing all the runes into a blaze of blue light as she did so. _My ribs are having the worst day,_ she thought as she gave the blade a savage twist and leeched the monster’s life away. The Gronn let out a ground-shaking bellow that trailed off to a whimpering cry, and its hand went limp.

The pain of her ribs snapping into place—again—made the edges of her vision go dark as the Gronn sagged briefly before collapsing. Its death throes batted her away, and she hit the ground and rolled, desperately scrambling out of the creature’s trajectory. It was heavy enough that she bounced when it hit the ground.

For a long moment, Ashen stayed sprawled on her back, blinking as the dust settled. 

“Commander?” Thaelin hollered down at her. “Yeh alive down there, lass?”

Ashen lifted her right hand in a half-hearted wave of confirmation, then took a breath and levered herself up on an elbow. A few feet away, the Gronn was sprawled on its belly, arms akimbo. Her sword was still protruding from its eye.

“Up you get, lass. I could use a hand,” the dwarf called.

Stifling a groan, Ashen pushed to her feet and wandered unsteadily to the Gronn to retrieve her sword. It took a couple of tries to tug the blade free, and she tapped the worst of the gore off before securing it to her back. She paused at the base of the tank, eyeing the chains dubiously, and then began the climb with a sigh. She couldn’t get a good, deep breath with the damage to her chest plate, and her range of motion was restricted with her left arm. Her progress up the chain wasn’t exactly swift, but she made the top and moved to join Thaelin.

The dwarf looked over at her from the console he’d been examining, and opened his mouth to say something just as horns started sounding. They looked out toward the dock in time to see flares shoot skyward.

“We’re out of time,” Ashen said grimly as she hurried to Thaelin’s side. “Tell me what you need.”

“Gettin’ this offa here’d be a bleeding good start,” Thaelin groused as he thumped a panel cover. 

Ashen eyed the panel for a moment, then slid her fingers around the edges until she found purchase. It took her a few moments of straining, but the metal gave way and torqued upward enough that Thaelin gave her a thumbs up. “Good enough, lass. I’ll get the cannon goin’ so you can tell the Iron Horde I said ‘bugger yer mum.’”

The death knight snorted in amusement and looked toward the docks. The orcs were scrambling out of buildings nearby and arming. The first of them would probably arrive in a couple more minutes, at most. There was a sharp bang, followed by a string of curses that Ashen didn’t understand but suspected were vile. 

“The innards o’ this thing don’t make sense! No wonder it’s just sittin’ here like a monument to mechanical failure…try that cannon, lass. Might hafta thump it.”

Ashen hopped down from the control platform and poked at the panel on the cannon Thaelin had indicated. After a couple of prods and a judicious kick to the side of the thing, it clanked and whirred to life, and Ashen grimly stepped onto the pedals and gripped the controls.

“Commander!” Khadgar shouted from the ground.

Ashen adjusted the cannon to target the field rapidly filling with Iron Horde, then glanced toward the back of the tank. Khadgar was craning his neck to meet her gaze as the rest of their forces streamed past him. “Defend the tank! I’ll thin them with this thing, you shield us!”

“Form ranks!” Khadgar ordered, gesturing sharply to the band of survivors. “Children and injured with backs against the tank. Defenders ready!”

Ashen saw the bloom of violet light signaling Khadgar’s arcane shield, and opened fire. The next few minutes were a blur of booming noise from the cannon and screams of the dying. She did her best to keep the worst of the onslaught at bay, but the cannon needed a second or two to recharge between shots, and the Iron Horde forces were steadily trickling into range of the group huddling beside the tank. 

Khadgar dropped the shield in favor of trying to buy their forces some breathing room. A spray of arcane orbs arced over the heads of the Azerothian forces and shot down into the advancing orcs, detonating in a series of deafening booms and flares of violet light. 

“Thaelin!” Khadgar bellowed.

“Almost there! Need a hand, lass!”

Ashen abandoned the cannon and scrambled for Thaelin, feeling another surge of magic from Khadgar as she went. The dwarf beckoned her frantically, then pointed at a spot with several gauges on the main panel. 

“When I tell yeh tae, stab it!”

“What?!”

“Trust me!” Thaelin snapped at her.

“Stab it where?” Ashen shouted back in mounting dismay as she reached for her broadsword.

“Right between those two big dials!” Thaelin grunted, face contorted in concentration as he reached into the panel’s guts. “Almost…now! STAB IT NOW!”

Ashen plunged the sword down into the panel, and for a moment nothing happened. She cut her gaze over to Thaelin, who made a helpless gesture with his free hand. Before either of them could say anything, the tank shuddered, and came to life with a great coughing wheeze. 

Thaelin crowed with triumph and slammed his fist down on a red button on the console. The primary weapon spun up with a deep series of whumping noises, and after a high-pitched whine reached a crescendo, it fired. Ashen and Thaelin went sprawling.

The death knight clawed her way up from the deck of the tank almost before she’d hit it, muttering pleas to anything that might be listening for the gambit to work. The battle seemed to still as the enormous iron star whistled through the air and slammed into one of the carved, hooded figures forming the pillars of the Dark Portal. The stone shattered, and the iron star detonated with a boom that shook Tanaan jungle. With a tortured groan, the stone comprising the rest of the portal cracked and collapsed, belching dust and smoke into the air.

“Run!” Khadgar commanded, voice laced with desperation. “Everyone to the docks!”

Ashen and Thaelin burst into motion. She saw the dwarven engineer scrambling for the side of the tank as she lunged for the sword she’d left buried in the panel. Ashen yanked the hilt with both hands, only to hear a screech of protest from the panel and have the sword remain stuck. She huffed in irritation and activated the runes on the blade, then used them to set off a blast of ice straight down the blade and into the panel.

The screeching was horrible, but the sword came free. Ashen leapt for the back of the tank and the chains, not bothering to put the weapon away. She half slid, half fell from the chain and staggered up into a sprint after what remained of their forces. 

From the outlying buildings beyond the blast zone created from her efforts with the cannon and Khadgar’s arcane assault, Ashen could see orcs charging toward the road. Most of the survivors were already nearing the docks, but the orcs and draenei they’d rescued were lagging behind, weakened by captivity and deprivation. _They aren’t going to make it._

It felt like other battlefields she’d run through; the icy fear that bloomed in her gut with the knowledge her charges would likely die, and the accompanying rage were bitterly familiar. And yet, there was no getting used to it, no resignation to the inevitable. 

Ashen’s gaze fell on Luuka, who was looking back at her over the shoulder of one of the draenei. He had a hand stretched towards her, face twisted in dismay. His other arm was around the neck of the man carrying him—and in that hand, Ashen caught a glimpse of a glow that could only be that silly bird.

They needed a minute, perhaps two. In a battle, a minute was an eternity.

The death knight stopped running, letting her momentum fall off until she was left standing in the road, watching the stragglers run. She turned her back to the dock and leveled her blade back the way they’d come, took as deep a breath as she could in her mangled armor, and fired the runes on her blades. They’d get their minute, if she had anything to say about it.

*

Khadgar sprinted down the road, gaze fixed on the dock. He was dimly aware of the shouting of his allies as they fled, but his focus was turned inward. He could seal the pier with a barrier once they reached it, and place wards along the sides of the dock to repel projectiles…

It might be enough to get them away from this wretched place.

Ahead of him, a female orc stumbled, dropping the child she was carrying. Khadgar skidded to halt as he reached her, hauling her up by an elbow. “I’ll take him, go!” The boy understood enough to hold his arms up to the mage, who swept him off the ground and started running as the woman followed.

The Iron Horde was bellowing challenges and insults that were growing steadily closer, but they were almost to the dock. Khadgar’s heart was pounding as he crossed the last few yards to the pier with the boy tucked under one arm. His frantic pace slowed as he stepped onto the planking, and he shifted to the side to let the others pass.

“Here, let me have the young one,” Thrall said as he held out his hands for the boy. 

Khadgar passed the child over with a grateful nod, and turned back in preparation to cast the barrier. He paused with a hand lifted halfway, a stone of worry forming in his chest. _I should have realized this would happen,_ Khadgar thought as he drifted forward, gaze bouncing from face to face across the slowest members of the group.

Beyond the scattered stragglers, the archmage could see Ashen. She was limned in blue, and as he reached toward her with his mind’s eye, he saw the magic branching out across the battlefield. Her presence seemed to be splitting into pieces, diminishing in strength with each jump. 

Khadgar’s brows drew together, but he left her to it, and began teleporting the stragglers onto the dock. The sense of resistance he’d had when he tried teleporting away from the dam was still there, but he managed to punch through it. It helped that he could see his targets, and was teleporting them to his location instead of trying to teleport himself elsewhere.

The tone of the roar from the Iron Horde was changing as Khadgar pulled the last of the refugees to safety. The blue glow around Ashen had flickered out, and for a moment he feared she was no longer on the road at all. As he realized that there were notes of panic amid the din, he spotted ghouls leaping through the scattered orcs.

Khadgar didn’t realize he was moving until shouts started sounding behind him. Some distance from the chaos, he finally spotted Ashen. She was closer than she had been…but was down on one knee, and likely only that upright because she was leaning on her sword. Her head lifted, and their gazes met.

Without giving it thought, Khadgar teleported straight to her. When he rematerialized in front of her, Ashen blinked up at him, then frowned. A twist of fear shot through him—her eyes were almost absent their usual glow. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she muttered.

“Come now, Commander, no lying down on the job just yet,” Khadgar quipped with joviality he didn’t really feel. He took the sword from her, then got his shoulder under her arm and lifted them both. Reaching out once more, Khadgar teleported them to the dock.

Yrel and Maraad were waiting with hands outstretched to take Ashen. Their expressions of dismay were nearly identical. After handing off Ashen’s blade, Khadgar quickly raised the barrier he’d planned and spent a moment stringing wards around the exposed sides of the pier. He fervently hoped to be away with the survivors before the orcs recovered from the shock of Ashen’s ghouls.

There was a beat of silence from the surviving forces, then pandemonium broke loose.

“Archmage! What were you thinking, going back into—”

“Yeh pointy-eared prat! Yeh nearly got ‘er kilt!”

“This is no time to—”

And most of the children started wailing. Khadgar held up a hand to silence Cordana, then scrubbed that hand down his face in exhaustion and dismay.

Thaelin had launched himself at the blood-elf—Lenny? Len-something-or-other? Khadgar couldn’t remember the ranger’s name. The dwarf seemed determined to beat the elf’s face in, and sides were rapidly forming with other voices raising in ire.

“ _Gentlemen!”_ The note of command in the reverberating voice silenced the shouting. Khadgar caught himself straightening his spine in response to that thread of authority, and felt a brief flicker of amusement. 

Ashen was leaning heavily on Yrel, and scowling her displeasure. The silence stretched, and the knot of fighters slowly broke apart under the weight of her disapproval. 

Her gaze flicked to Khadgar, and he realized the glow about her eyes was a bit brighter. “And I was not lying down on the job. I was…crouching.”

Khadgar laughed, tension dissolving suddenly. The Alliance and Horde started drifting to different sides of the pier, but the crisis appeared to be over. Still chuckling, he walked over to Ashen and Yrel. “Seems to me like you were kneeling.”

Ashen fixed him with a haughty, narrow-eyed stare. “I do _not_ kneel.” The corners of her mouth twitched. Khadgar abruptly realized he was being sassed, and whatever it was she’d done, she’d most likely recover.

“Take the Commander aboard, if you would,” he told Yrel as Maraad and Thrall approached. The draenei nodded, and the two women turned away.  
  
“We part ways here, it seems,” Thrall rumbled, gaze flicking between the human and draenei. 

“Who do you sail with, Archmage?” Maraad asked bluntly.

“I’ll go with whomever will make landfall first, and rendezvous with the other faction afterward,” Khadgar answered easily. 

“Drek’Thar tells me that Frostfire Ridge, the home of the Frostwolf clan, is a week’s voyage from here,” Thrall reported.

“Shadowmoon Valley is reachable in roughly two days of sailing.” Maraad looked over at Thrall for a moment, then extended a hand. “Light go with you, shaman. Your people also suffered much here. I will not forget.”

Thrall grasped the paladin’s forearm with a nod of respect. “Ancestors watch over you, paladin.”

Maraad nodded briefly to Khadgar and turned away, hooves clomping against the planking as he made his way to the ship commandeered by the Alliance. Khadgar spent a few moments making arrangements with Thrall, and conjured a small beacon for the shaman to carry. 

“I’ll see you in six days,” Khadgar promised.

*

Ashen was propped in a seated position on the deck near the prow of the ship when they got underway. She was exhausted from overextending her magic, and wanted nothing so much as to sleep for the next week or so. For now, she needed to hold on to the magic a few minutes longer. 

The people scattered across the deck went still as the first of the explosions went off. Ashen felt a corner of her mouth curl upward, and she stood slowly. Another building went up with a roar and a belched column of flame and black smoke. Then another.

“Your work, I assume?” Maraad asked Khadgar, who was shading his eyes with a hand and peering back toward the dock with a perplexed expression.

“No, actually,” Khadgar answered with a shrug as he lowered his hand.

Ashen watched flames lick away from the munitions depots near the dock, and silently felt for the last two ghouls. She didn’t notice Khadgar’s approach until he spoke.

“So, you weren’t just being dramatic, I take it?” Brows drew together sharply over his nose as he regarded her with something very close to disapproval. “You do realize I likely would’ve gotten everyone in time?”

“You needed the breathing room, and so did they,” Ashen told him, her attention still partly on the ghouls she sensed moving back at the dock. “I also don’t believe in doing things halfway. A few quick-to-kill ghouls kept them from seeing the ones meant to set off explosions.”

Khadgar scowled, and started to speak, but whatever he had to say was lost in the deafening whump and spray of water that accompanied the first of the drydocked ships exploding. Applause and cheering broke out behind them, and Ashen and Khadgar exchanged a look, then swept gazes over their allies.

“Sloppy,” Ashen said finally, “To store munitions on ships in drydock. The fires will likely take out most of the facility.”

“At the very least, you’ve bought us some time to prepare,” Khadgar told her as he blew out a slow breath.

“Nice to know I made an _impact,_ ” she deadpanned.

Khadgar shot her a dirty look, but the corner of his mouth curled upward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally made it out of Tanaan, and it only took about 20k words. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this so far.


	6. Matters of Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise any more updates will be made to this until the beginning of June. Things are a bit nuts for me right now. I hope everyone is safe, well, and sane in the midst of this covid-19 mess.

Khadgar tucked his gloves into his belt and raked a hand through his hair as he climbed the steps leading up to the deck of the stolen ship. He’d gotten a few hours of sleep after it became clear they’d made a clean escape from Tanaan, and felt better for it. Mostly, anyway. He knew he’d dreamt, but the images had unraveled like smoke in the wind when he woke. Khadgar was left with an ache of loss like a bruise around his heart, and no explanation for what put it there.

The steep steps up to the deck ended on a small passage between the ship’s command post and the bulk of the hold. Khadgar’s efforts to tame his unruly silver mane were undone by the gentle, brine scented breeze gusting past, but he ignored the stray locks dangling over his forehead in favor of the lure of the open sky. He walked out of the covered passage and paused at the starboard railing, looking up at the endless sweep of stars. It was a beautiful night, and Khadgar felt the lingering moodiness dispersing under the dome of stars and endless, murmuring water.

After spending so long in exile on the Draenor he remembered, Khadgar had expected to recognize the constellations spanning the heavens. The stars were brighter and closer here, in this unblemished world. He scanned what he could see of the sky, not spotting any familiar formations, and finally resumed walking when his line of sight was blocked by the ugly tower housing the ship’s controls. He absently acknowledged the greetings he received as he moved across the deck toward the ship’s prow. Aside from a single massive, spike-covered cannon the prow looked like it would provide a relatively clear vantage for star gazing.

It wasn’t just the cannon that was hideous. Huge, heavy chains served as railings around the sides of the warship, and aggressive metal spikes jutted from the vessel’s armored sides. The enormous warship made coughing chuffs as it steamed through the sea, though the sound and the vibrations he felt as he walked over the deck grew fainter as he moved forward. Khadgar swept the ship with a searching gaze for a moment, noting the monumental ugliness and distinct absence of a certain death knight.

The lone cannon rose to his left as Khadgar reached the prow. Now that he was away from the relative shelter of the back of the ship, the breeze was a blustery, misty wind. It sifted through his hair and tugged at his robes, and he closed his eyes for a long moment, listening to the wind and spray. His mind settled, then stilled. Khadgar wasn’t certain how long he’d been lost in the sound of the sea when a velvety, low, echoing voice spoke from his left.

“You’ve the look of a man who feels the call of the sea, Archmage,” Ashen said quietly.

Khadgar opened his eyes and turned to look at her. The elven woman was obscured by the cannon’s shadow, but her glowing gaze lit her face just enough that he could see she was smiling slightly. “Commander,” he greeted warmly. “I was hoping to find you about somewhere. Join me?”

He watched as she considered for a moment, then came gliding forward to join him in the space under the barrel of the cannon. Ashen rested her hands on the links of the chain railing, and looked out at the sea while he studied her. Khadgar had hoped that his flickers of fascination would fade once they’d escaped the insanity of the initial charge through the portal. Shared battlefield experiences could create a false sense of connection that faded when subjected to calmer consideration.

Unfortunately, that theory fell apart as Khadgar felt an increasingly familiar tug of interest while his gaze lingered on Ashen’s moonlit features. _This is a bad idea,_ he thought in exasperation as he set a hand on the chain and looked over the water, then up at the stars. _Discuss the next steps for the expedition, then dismiss her._

“I suppose I didn’t escape completely unscathed,” Khadgar found himself saying instead. “I was born in Kul Tiras…and as they say, Kul Tirans have brine in their veins and hearts that beat to the rhythm of sea shanties.” He sighed inwardly as he glanced over to find her studying him, head angled slightly to the side and a pensive expression on her face.

“I suppose that would explain your height,” Ashen mused.

Khadgar grinned back at her. “Or perhaps you’re just short,” he suggested in amusement. His grin widened as she scoffed at him. He was just a bit more than a head taller than her, but guessed she was a little more than six feet tall. Ashen was tall enough, at any rate, to tower over the other humans in their ragtag band—both men and women. The other night elves and the draenei surpassed her in height, though to be fair, some of them were taller than he was.

“I remember the sea, and perhaps a few songs, but little else. I was very young when I was shipped off to join the Kirin Tor in Dalaran,” Khadgar continued after a moment. “Now I suppose Dalaran is the closest thing to home…but I can vaguely remember wanting to go back. Not sure what I wanted to go back to, though…a feeling, perhaps.” His voice trailed off and his brow furrowed in surprise; the words just sort of slipped from him, as if Ashen’s calm, considered gaze had lured them from beyond his defenses.

“Innocence,” Ashen said as she met his gaze, glowing eyes knowing. Khadgar’s hand tightened around the link in the railing and he swallowed, feeling exposed under her scrutiny. It was uncanny that she seemed to see him so clearly, and he had mixed feelings about it. “That happiness that only children know.”

“And then, only too briefly,” he agreed, voice low.

“It’s been so long that I can’t remember that feeling at all,” Ashen confided as her eyes flicked away, voice laced with wistfulness. “I remember the nostalgia you’re describing,” she added after a moment.

The silence stretched between them as they watched the moonlight dancing on the waves for several moments. Khadgar huffed in a sudden flash of amusement, and glanced sidelong at Ashen, who lifted a brow at him. “Why, hello, Commander. By all means, join me for some thoroughly dispiriting small talk.”

Ashen grinned at him, teeth a flash of white in the darkness. _Light help me,_ Khadgar thought, watching the unfettered amusement move across her face. She had a wicked smile framed by dimples, and he liked it entirely too much for his own comfort.

“And yet, it’s still better than most of the conversations from the past couple of days or so,” Ashen retorted, a thread of laughter lurking in her words.

Khadgar gave her a wry smirk. “Doesn’t speak well of our social lives, does it?”

“Social undeath might be a better descriptor,” came the dry response.

The archmage laughed, then shook his head with a grin. “Speaking of,” he said as he turned to face her and folded his arms over his chest, “I looked for you all over the ship before you ambushed me. What were you doing up here alone?” He gestured past her with a jut of his chin toward her gear, which he could see carefully secured to a link in the port railing near the cannon. “Light, woman. Did you sleep here?”

Ashen leaned back on her heels, hands still wrapped around the chain, and turned her head to pin him with an amused look. “Funny story, that. There’s this mage—fond of poorly timed puns and magical explosions—that decided to pelt me with the sludge from the bottom of a lake. After that, all the soldiers under my command seemed to be under the impression that I smelled terrible. I seem to recall some unfavorable comparisons to dwarven hangover cures,” Ashen told him drily.

Khadgar tried and failed to stifle his bark of laughter. “There’s no such thing as a poorly timed pun, you heretic,” he teased. “That said, this fellow sounds truly odious.”

“It turned out well enough,” Ashen said blandly, mouth twitching. “I got the last weed in.”

“Light,” Khadgar chuckled. “You did, at that. It will haunt my nightmares for years to come, so thanks.” He scratched at his jaw, absently feeling stubble rasp under his fingers. “I guess the smell would explain why I woke up in a perfectly habitable section of the ship surrounded by empty berths. Even Cordana was keeping her distance, instead of sticking to my armor like a burr,” he muttered, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his tone darkened.

The Warden had waited until the ship was well away from the dock and had been thoroughly swept for enemies before raking him over the coals. After cornering him in the hold, Cordana had told him in no uncertain terms that he was a fool for risking himself to pull Ashen from the battlefield. In hindsight, he realized there was a fair amount of knee-jerk response involved in his decision to teleport to Ashen rather than just teleporting her to his location. That could have been handled differently, but he didn’t regret the outcome for a moment, and was still bristling at Cordana’s aspersions on his general level of intelligence. Cordana seemed to be under the impression that she was his keeper, and that without her death grip on his leash he wouldn’t be able to locate his own arse.

Ashen was studying him, brows lifting in slow increments toward her hairline. Khadgar summoned a smirk and spoke before she could question him. “I never apologized for knocking into you, did I? Perhaps I could make amends? I’ve a spell in my arsenal that would get rid of the worst of the grime and, ah, fragrance,” he told her laughingly.

“Yes, _please,”_ Ashen answered with an amusing degree of fervency.

Chuckling, Khadgar unfolded his arms and lifted his left hand toward her. He could have cast the spell with a thought, but he’d always harbored a fondness for showmanship—and he couldn’t resist the temptation to show off a bit. The magic formed in a ball of luminous white around his hand before drawing into a tight sphere in his palm. With a muttered command, Khadgar sent the spell over Ashen’s head, then released it to whisk over her person.

Khadgar realized he might have overdone it a bit. Ashen visibly started, eyes wide, as the magic whooshed over her, taking the accumulated grime and gore as it went. Pins scattered like shrapnel, plinking off the chain railing and bouncing across the deck as the spell unbound her hair. A long mass of pale silvery blue tumbled down her back, nearly to her waist.

Despite finding her distracting and rather contradictory, it had escaped Khadgar’s notice that her hair wasn’t cropped brutally short, as he’d assumed. Instead she had it aggressively bound and contained, both to fit under a helm and deny enemies a handhold. Ashen grimaced as the wind instantly whipped her hair about her head, and reached up with her right hand to gather it. Khadgar realized his jaw was hanging open in surprise, and snapped his mouth closed. A few long strands evaded Ashen’s attempts at capture, writing indecipherable things in the air in moonlight colored ink.

“My apologies, Commander,” Khadgar managed finally. Ashen glanced at him with a half-smile as she twisted her hair into a loose knot with a series of deft, one-handed motions. By some trick of purely feminine sorcery that escaped his comprehension, it stayed that way when she released it.

“No need,” she answered easily. “I could use your assistance with another matter, if you’re still feeling helpful.”

“Certainly.”

Ashen pulled her right knee up toward her chest, and pulled a dagger from her boot, much to Khadgar’s growing puzzlement. “For your next magic trick, you can help me out of this armor.”

Khadgar’s heart gave a hard thump against his ribs as his mind came to a screeching halt. He was a moment, perhaps two, away from sputtering in embarrassment when Ashen turned to face him fully. In the brightness of Draenor’s moonlight, he could suddenly see that her armor was damaged. The left pauldron was mangled, the front edges crumpled inward to press into Ashen’s shoulder and arm. There was a visible tear down that side of chest piece, as well, and the edges overlapped. It must have been uncomfortable at best, and at worst—

Khadgar abruptly recovered his powers of speech as his brows snapped together in displeasure. “How are you breathing in that?” He demanded, waving a hand at her side. “Better yet, how are you not dead? You look like something tried to crush you.” 

Ashen went completely still for a moment before deftly flicking the dagger around so she was holding it by the blade. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and Khadgar wondered with a momentary flicker of amazement if she was blushing. “It’s not any different than wearing a corset that’s too tight,” she answered defensively. “I can breathe. Sort of. There…might have been broken ribs,” she admitted sheepishly.

Khadgar scowled at her.

“I also might not be able to move my left arm or feel my fingers,” Ashen added after a moment, her gaze flicking to meet his before flicking away again.

 _Definitely blushing,_ Khadgar decided. He beckoned her away from the railing, and moved around her in a slow circle, eyeing her armor. “I don’t need a dagger. If you trust me, that is,” he told her, pausing in his analysis of her gear to meet her gaze.

Ashen flicked the dagger toward the base of the cannon in answer. The blade lodged in the deck with a solid thunk. Inwardly pleased, Khadgar hooked his fingers under the rim of the right pauldron and tugged it up enough to reveal buckles and straps. “You never answered my question about why you’re not dead.”

“Fond of existential debates, are you?” Ashen asked drolly. Khadgar gave her a dirty look, which she answered with a smile. The corner of his mouth curled reluctantly upward.

“You thought puns and explosions were my limit? I’m wounded, Commander,” Khadgar snarked back at her. Ashen gave an amused huff while he eyed the row of buckles and straps holding the pauldron to her armor for a moment. “Unbuckle these or cut straps?” He asked, meeting her gaze.

“Cut straps. Pauldron’s not much good without armor to attach it to,” Ashen answered. Khadgar slipped his fingers around one of the straps and deftly sliced through with a tendril of arcane power as the death knight spoke again. “To answer your question…the magic that makes a death knight can be thought of as a sort of stasis. I can potentially heal injuries within seconds if I’m fighting. The regenerative abilities are meant to return me to my…original condition.”

Khadgar glanced down at her after cutting another strap. “Fascinating,” he breathed. “I’ve not heard it described that way, but I have to agree with the assessment. Stasis,” he muttered as he returned his attention to the remaining straps. “So followed to a logical conclusion, you are more resilient than your armor.”

“Yes.”

The third strap parted, and Khadgar’s eyes flicked to Ashen’s face. Deciding he owed her some ribbing, the mage fell back to his particular brand of humor. “You go through a lot of armor, then. Ever considered forgoing it?” Khadgar smothered a grin as he felt her jerk in surprise, her brows snapping together over her nose as she eyed him. “It could be a tactical advantage. Think of your enemies’ distraction!” 

Ashen’s narrow-eyed, dubious expression just added to his mirth. A corner of Khadgar’s mind was insisting he should stop talking while all she was inclined to do was thump him. “I’d find it distracting, anyway. A beautiful woman with nothing but weapons?” He grinned toothily at her and waggled his brows, while her eyes narrowed further. “What? I’m old, not dead,” Khadgar told her drily.

“That makes one of us. I’m old _and_ dead,” Ashen retorted. Khadgar blinked at her for a moment in surprise, then started chuckling. It built into a full, rolling laugh as the corner of the death knight’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“You certainly don’t look it,” Khadgar told her when he could breathe again. He tugged on the pauldron, checking for other straps, then stepped behind her and tugged it free. After wrapping the dangling leather around the armor piece, Khadgar tossed it to the deck, next to Ashen’s dagger. _Light knows, my life might be easier if you did,_ he thought briefly. “When I first saw you—before our foray through the portal—I thought you were a half br—er, a high elven warrior. I could sense magic around you, but many of your people have an affinity for it.”

“I never met my parents, so I can’t answer you about my pedigree,” Ashen told him in amusement. Khadgar grimaced as his face heated. “It’s alright,” she said kindly. “Humans tend to be far more accepting than the elven races. Despite the curiosity,” Ashen teased.

Khadgar made a noncommittal noise as he cut through the bindings on the top of her right shoulder, then tapped her arm to have her lift it. He cut through a couple more straps down her side before she spoke again.

“And you weren’t that far off, all things considered. I was following a warrior’s path before…” Khadgar’s fingers stopped around a strap as his gaze moved to hers. “Before Arthas so rudely poked my person with Frostmourne,” she continued with a brand of determined, wry humor that resonated with Khadgar. “But it was a choice, rather than a natural affinity. I was born a mage.”

Khadgar searched her gaze for a long moment, the only sounds around them those of the wind and the sea. “I suppose that explains…a lot, actually.” A flicker of power from his fingertips parted the strap he’d been holding, and Ashen shivered briefly. “I’m not overly familiar with the Ebon Blade as an order, but you seem…unusual. Forgive my rudeness, Commander, but what are you?”

A beat of silence passed, then another. “If that wasn’t a rhetorical question, I could use some additional context.” Khadgar let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding at the lack of offense in her tone.

“Fair enough. Tell me how you’re different from your kith, Commander. Could another death knight have made that bird for Luuka, for example?” A glance at Ashen’s face revealed she was searching the sea with her gaze, debating on how to answer him. “Feel free to explain it as if I’ve never met a death knight. I’d like to hear it as you understand it.”

Ashen turned her head slightly to look at him as his fingers skimmed down her armor to a strap on the curve of her waist. “Most of those raised as death knights were martial champions in life—warriors, paladins, even the occasional rogue. Disciplines that used magic normally became other forms of Scourge, like banshees or liches. It’s just like any other discipline, in that skills and strengths vary from person to person—you can have the same sword stroke executed dozens of different ways.” Khadgar nodded as she continued. “For example, Highlord Mograine has an affinity for command. Davinby, who usually serves as my second, has an affinity for gateways.”

“Has?” Khadgar asked curiously, brows arching. “If I’m thinking of the right fellow, didn’t he stay behind with the vanguard?”

“He did,” she confirmed. “It was a contingency we planned for. Davinby isn’t bound by the normal constraints for casting a death gate. He can gate anywhere he’s been on Azeroth. There’s a chance he was able to gate the death knights out.”

Khadgar was intrigued, but shoved that aside as the look on Ashen’s face registered. “I hope he made it,” he told her sincerely.

“As do I,” Ashen murmured softly. Visibly shaking off her thoughts, the death knight resumed her explanation. “Anyway…the best way to put it is probably to say I’m a mistake,” Ashen said slowly. “Arthas had no reason to suspect I was anything other than a warrior—I was suppressing my magic at the time, and it’s still suppressed under the magic that binds me.”

Khadgar had finished slicing the bindings on the right side of her armor, and had started tugging the leather ties free, flicking them toward the cannon as he went. He paused, lifting his gaze to hers, expression serious. “I’d argue your choice of words, Commander,” Khadgar told her as his eyes moved over her face briefly. He had heard more in her words than he figured she meant him to. “You aren’t a mistake.”

Ashen blinked, gaze snapping to him in astonishment. “That’s…not what I meant, but I thank you all the same.”

Khadgar nodded, still watching her, and her eyes flicked away. “What I don’t understand is why you were suppressing your magic in the first place. From what I can sense, you must have been quite powerful.”

Ashen made a gesture with her right hand that Khadgar interpreted as a shrug. It made sense, given the spiky pauldron he’d pulled from her shoulder a few minutes ago. He could picture her stabbing herself with spikes had she shrugged with those things on. “I suppose.”

“Why in the Light’s name would you bind it, then?” Khadgar pressed, tugging another strap free of buckles and tossing it away.

Ashen turned her head to regard him seriously. “You mentioned that there was a time you wanted to go home, even if you were uncertain what ‘home’ was,” she said finally, and Khadgar dipped his chin in agreement. “I wanted to belong there,” Ashen told him, looking away.

Khadgar was still for a long moment, staring at her in dawning comprehension. His eyes moved down the tapered, dark trail he could see at the corner of her right eye, following its narrowing path toward her jaw. It was obvious that the blunt, honest admission had cost her. Where his magic had been a source of joy, comfort, and purpose through a rather turbulent life, hers had been the opposite. She’d been a mage among a people that had come to blame practitioners of the arcane arts for the ills that had befallen their world. It wasn’t completely unfounded; magic was addictive, and the unscrupulous and power hungry had done terrible things with it. The night elves had broken into splinter groups, with the high elves and other elven magic users cast into exile. Some had died out, leaving behind only ruins and ghosts. The schism was only recently and partially mended, and then only because the decline in the numbers of the race had become worrisome. The bias and distrust remained.

Khadgar saw that much from dealing with Cordana.

His gaze dropped to his fingers as he pulled the last couple of straps on the right side of her plate free. “I take it that it didn’t help,” he commented after a moment.

“No,” Ashen said simply.

Khadgar nodded, then moved around her to study the bent pauldron on her left shoulder. He’d reached the straps from the front of the other pauldron, but the damage made repeating the process impossible. Hooking his fingers under the outer edge, Khadgar moved behind Ashen and pressed the pauldron forward. She gave an almost inaudible hiss of discomfort, but waved away his look of concern.

“It looks like once this one’s off, and the straps along the top of your shoulder have been cut, we can open your armor a bit like a clam shell,” Khadgar observed, wondering to himself which of them felt the greater need to move the conversation to safer ground. 

“No doubt I’ll look about that graceful trying to wiggle my way out,” Ashen sighed.

Khadgar grinned briefly. “So, back to our earlier topic. Your suppressed magic likely has consequences of some sort, I assume?”

“Sometimes,” Ashen answered thoughtfully. “For the most part it’s just there and rather useless, but sometimes it leaks through…especially in highly emotional situations. I can’t normally cast any spells aside from those granted me in the transformation. My abilities can also be somewhat…volatile and unpredictable.”

“I see. Then the magic you performed for Luuka—”

“Surprised me as much as you,” Ashen admitted.

Khadgar hummed thoughtfully as he dealt with the last straps under her pauldron and moved around her to pull it free. Ashen sighed in relief as the pressure against her shoulder eased, and the sound made the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “What about sensing magic? You mentioned that you could feel the sources of power at the portal—is that typical for a death knight? How did you get through that void barrier that Ner’zhul was using?”

As Khadgar slipped a finger under one of the last leather ties, Ashen shook her head, sending stray tendrils of her hair across his knuckles and the back of his hand. The hair on his hand and arm lifted as he felt the faint, tickling contact prickle all the way up to his shoulder.

“I never lost the ability to sense magic. For whatever reason, I see it more clearly now, if anything,” Ashen answered after a moment. 

Khadgar’s brows flew upward and he shot her a sideways glance before breaking the last two straps. He tugged the leather ties free and gave them a careless toss over his shoulder. “Not a typical ability then. Tell me—can you chart what you see? Diagram spell structure, and whatnot?”

“It depends on the magic and whether I’m familiar with it,” Ashen told him. “I don’t always understand what I’m seeing if it’s…fel magic, for instance.”

“Good to know you were never a practitioner,” Khadgar said drily. She made a rude gesture with her right hand that made him laugh. “And what of the barrier?”

Ashen eyed him in exasperation. “Help me get this off, and _then_ I’ll pander to your insatiable curiosity.”

“Deal,” he chuckled as he moved around to her right side and wiggled his fingers under the edges of the chest piece. He pulled the edges apart and lifted, and the death knight somehow managed to shimmy out of the armor, yanking first one arm then the other through as her head vanished for a moment. Khadgar was left holding some impressively heavy plate as Ashen ducked away and straightened. “By all that’s holy…perhaps you really _should_ consider forgoing the armor,” Khadgar muttered as he dropped it next to the other pieces.

“I don’t think so. It would be rather inconvenient to be dismembered in the middle of a fight.”

“Inconvenient,” Khadgar echoed with a rising inflection of incredulity. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Ashen lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, and gripped the edges of her jerkin to tug it into place. The under armor appeared to be some sort of quilted linen, and Khadgar tried to ignore how well it hugged her. Fortunately, her next words captured his full attention.

“To answer your question, I wouldn’t have been able to unravel Ner’zhul’s barrier if he had been casting at full strength. He only needed to delay us until the rock buried us, and he didn’t seem to find us that threatening in the first place.” Ashen hissed in irritation and swiped her hair out of its sloppy knot, gathering it and twisting it back into a semblance of order. “It was such a _stupid_ thing to do,” she muttered in disgust. “The next time we encounter Ner’zhul, he’ll bring his full strength against us. It would have been better for him to keep that dismissive, superior attitude of his.”

Khadgar watched as she rubbed her hands over her face, then turned her gaze up to the stars. “It can’t have been easy,” he rumbled after a long moment of silence, “to have been within swords’ reach of the cause of so much grief.” 

Ashen turned her face toward him, eyes searching his gaze, and nodded her assent. “No easier than I imagine it was for you to tell me to free Gul’dan to close the portal,” she observed.

It was Khadgar’s turn to look away, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot in silence for a moment. “I tried to teleport you out of the collapse before I…tackled you,” he said offhandedly, choosing to ignore her accurate assessment. His blue gaze flicked up to meet hers. “The magic seemed to just…” Khadgar made a poof sound and mimed an explosion with one hand.

Ashen blinked, and looked a bit embarrassed. “I probably owe you an apology for that. I mentioned my abilities can be somewhat wild?” Khadgar nodded, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing her curiously. “At the time I was…upset.” 

Khadgar couldn’t help the crooked grin that spread over his face. “Were you? I thought threatening to tie someone up by their guts was your way of breaking the ice.”

He got a withering look in response to his sarcasm, but there was a definite undertone of amusement to it. “I’m so pleased that you were entertained,” Ashen told him flatly.

“Well, it’s funny now. It was terrifying at the time.” Khadgar chuckled when she sighed.

“I won’t call it one of my finer moments,” Ashen admitted, using a foot to nudge one of the pauldrons toward her pack. “Which reminds me,” she continued, fixing Khadgar with a narrow-eyed stare. “What happened at the dam?”

The archmage’s levity faded. “When I tried to teleport away I…missed,” Khadgar answered grimly. “I’m not sure why. I do know I haven’t had a spell just fizzle away like that since I was a child.” His voice had trailed off to something close to a mutter, as if he were mostly talking to himself. After a moment, his gaze sharpened and snapped back to Ashen. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” She asked, puzzled.

“I was able to use you as an anchor. Your magical presence is strong enough that you look like a beacon to my arcane sight.” Khadgar paused, then added, “It saved my life.”

Ashen’s look of confusion had only deepened. “If that’s true, then what took you so long?”

Khadgar felt his expression shift to mirror her confusion. “To teleport to you?” Ashen nodded, and he felt a flicker of annoyance firmly underscored by embarrassment. “It was only a few seconds.”

His annoyance faded to astonishment as rage washed over her face. She stepped toward him, expression flattening. “We thought you were _dead,”_ Ashen snapped as she gave him a hard poke in the sternum. “I had to restrain Cordana to keep her from diving into the flood! You weren’t gone for seconds, you were gone for nearly a handful of _minutes_ , Khadgar!”

Khadgar had lifted his hands in a gesture of appeasement after the bruising prod, and had taken a judicious step back. He froze as her words registered. “Minutes?” He asked incredulously as his expression morphed into one of deep dismay.

“You didn’t know,” Ashen murmured, anger draining from her features as she searched his gaze.

Khadgar scrubbed his hands over his face and started to pace, muttering curses as he went. “This is a problem,” he told Ashen as he forced himself to stop pacing and face her. “Potentially a very serious one. I could feel some sort of interference even when I teleported using you as an anchor. That’s one of the reasons I asked about the magic bouncing off you in the mine—I needed to know if that was something you did or something awry with the magic here. It was there again when I pulled the slower members of our group to the dock as we fled Tanaan.”   
  
*

Ashen watched as Khadgar resumed his restless pacing, stabbing his fingers through his unruly mane as he went. As he moved out of the moonlight and his features fell into shadow, his eyes became luminous with power, only to fade as he paced into the light once more. He kept making offhanded comments about being old, but she couldn’t see it as she looked at him. His strong, chiseled features were grim, and there was a muscle jumping at the corner of his sharp, square jaw. Silver hair fell stubbornly over one eye, no matter how many times he raked his hands through it.

 _Humans have such odd notions about aging, anyway,_ Ashen thought as she tracked him with her gaze.

“I don’t recognize any of the constellations here, either,” Khadgar told her suddenly. “That could be due to the season, I suppose, but still—I would’ve thought there’d be something at least vaguely familiar.” He made a noise of irritation as he paced past her and into the cannon’s shadow once more. “I’ll have to think on it. There must be a reason for…whatever the void this is,” he muttered.

Ashen settled with her back against the chain and her palms braced against the links, and continued to watch him pace. It took a few minutes, but he slowed, and his gaze finally flicked up from the deck to meet hers. He lifted his brows at her questioningly, having felt the weight of her stare. She closed her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath, not wanting to bring up the topic she knew needed to be aired.

After a moment, she met his gaze again. “While you’re thinking, you should think about who will command what’s left of the Alliance forces. I was planning to have you get a missive to Stormwind after we make contact with the draenei. The king will be awaiting word of the expedition’s status, and any additional personnel should be requested in that report.”

Khadgar moved to stand before her, stopping within arm’s reach, and searched her gaze with bright blue eyes. His brows arched upward slightly in surprise. “You don’t want command? You’ve certainly earned the right to the post.”

Ashen couldn’t quite squelch her answering startled expression, and Khadgar’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if she’d confirmed something he’d suspected. “I will gladly serve in whatever capacity I’m needed,” she told him, straightening and dropping her hands from the chain. “Archmage, you must have a commander that you trust implicitly—and it hasn’t escaped my notice that you have reservations about my nature. If you have the slightest doubt, I advise you to choose another.”

She wasn’t sure what response she had expected from Khadgar, but the glittering irritation in his eyes wasn’t it. He gave her a rather impressive scowl. “This has happened to you before, hasn’t it?” He demanded gruffly.

It had, but that was rather beside the point, in her opinion. Ashen refused to be the cause of anything that might jeopardize their objectives in Draenor. Purpose was everything, and she did not require a command post to fulfill hers. She answered Khadgar with a light shrug, with only made his scowl deepen.

“I’m not replacing you, Commander. I need you,” Khadgar told her, voice low. Ashen blinked at him as something unreadable moved over his face and flickered briefly in his eyes before he continued. “You not only conquered every obstacle I set you against, you fostered cooperation between the Alliance and Horde while doing so. It’s going to take the combined efforts of Azeroth’s factions to deal with what’s been unleashed here, as well as help from the natives. No, Commander,” Khadgar said as he stepped closer. “This post is yours.”

He was close enough that she had to lift her chin slightly to meet his gaze comfortably. That low, rumbling voice of his echoed in her mind for a moment, doing something dangerous behind her defenses, where her emotions were tightly contained.

_I need you._

Ashen could almost hear her walls slamming into place against it. For a long moment, the mage and death knight simply studied each other. “And what of your reservations?” She asked finally.

“Matters of trust,” Khadgar murmured thoughtfully. “A complicated thing, isn’t it? Both a choice, and something built one word, one action at a time. I have no reason to distrust you, Ashen, and many reasons to put my faith in you after everything we’ve been through up to now. Should I have concerns, I give you my word that I will address them with you as they occur.”

She inclined her head in acceptance. “As you wish. I will not give you cause to regret it.”

“I believe you,” Khadgar answered, tone warm. “If you do nothing other than provide me with honest counsel, you’ll be worth your weight in gold, I imagine.”

There was something bitter and almost grim swimming beneath those words, though Khadgar’s expression didn’t change. Ashen felt a pang of sympathy. _We all have our ghosts,_ she thought. Aloud, she told him, “Then in the interest of trust and honest counsel, there is something we should discuss.”

Khadgar’s expression turned curious. “I’m listening,” he replied amiably.

Ashen studied him, gathering her thoughts. There was something warm in his eyes as he looked down at her, and she was probably going to extinguish it. She felt a brief flicker of regret, but forged ahead anyway. “I know it grieved you to lose so many at the portal, and to leave still more behind when we retreated,” Ashen began gently, and Khadgar grimaced in agreement before looking away. She paused, watching as he rubbed a hand over his mouth in silence.

“It was the correct decision, as you are no doubt aware,” Ashen continued. “Through the fighting and fleeing for our lives, you did your best to keep our forces safe. You are—” she hesitated, searching for words, as Khadgar’s flickering eyes met hers, and he shifted closer. “—You are a devoted, passionate defender of others, willing to use your power to protect those who are powerless. It’s a noble thing that makes you worth following—”

Khadgar was still, the glow in his irises flickering to a brighter intensity as his expression warmed. The expression on his face sent a jolt down her spine and made her heart pound—and activated all of her flight responses. There was something about that look that made her want…want so many impossible things.

“—But you allow it to make you reckless,” Ashen concluded, mildly astonished that her tone was even.

The silence stretched, and became deafening as the look on Khadgar’s face slowly slipped into something flatter, harder, and tinged with danger. Ashen held her ground, and held his gaze, watching as his power responded to his rising ire and his eyes brightened with a glow that rivaled that of her own. She’d known—at least in an abstract sense—that Khadgar was an incredibly dangerous man. The power at his disposal was rivaled only by his will, and it was the first time she’d had to acknowledge on a purely visceral level that she was glad he wasn’t an enemy. A corner of her mind wondered what it said about her that she only felt more drawn to Khadgar with his temper on full display.

“Reckless?” Khadgar asked her finally, deep voice low and dangerous.

Ashen nodded once, and lifted her chin.

“ _Reckless,_ ” he scoffed, blazing eyes narrow. “That’s a touch hypocritical, coming from the woman who launches herself at problems swords first, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m a solider. It’s my job to go at problems swords first,” Ashen answered bluntly.

“You nearly dove through a portal to Light knows where, chasing a sorcerer in a fit of temper!” Khadgar snapped at her, voice steadily rising in volume. “Then you fought a Gronn without support and damn near got yourself killed!” He punctuated the accusation with a pointed stab of a finger toward her broken armor. “And _you_ are calling _me_ reckless?”

“You’re right, I did,” Ashen agreed. “Ner’zhul would have killed me if you had not intervened, and I _am_ grateful,” she continued, lifting her right hand in what was meant to be a placating gesture. “As for the Gronn, I had no choice but to buy Thaelin time, and you know that. Had I known what was waiting at the tank, I would have taken a small squad along.”

Khadgar loomed over her, and Ashen felt goosebumps race over her skin as she felt Khadgar’s magic bristle outward, echoing his posture. “Enlighten me, then, Commander. How was I reckless?” He growled down at her.

“You endangered yourself needlessly to destroy the dam—”

“It was not needless!” Khadgar all but shouted, as his hold on his temper began to fray.

Ashen’s patience with him snapped, and she stepped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Hansel could have set charges we could have detonated from a distance,” she returned fiercely, volume rising to match his. “ _You_ are the one person who must survive here, Khadgar! We have no way back to Azeroth without you. Without you, we’re stuck here with no reinforcements, supplies, or hope of gaining either! Without _you,_ ” she told him with another stab of her index finger against his chest, “Even if we miraculously break the Iron Horde, we would have no one who could possibly counter Gul’dan.”

Khadgar’s hands were clenching into fists and releasing at his sides, over and over. “These men and women are not disposable, and I _will not throw their lives away_!” Khadgar boomed at her, voice raw. “Not if I can prevent it. They are my responsibility. I thought you, of all people, understood this,” he rasped. “Next you’re going to tell me I should have left you to the tender mercies of the Iron Horde—”

“Yes, you should have,” Ashen told him in exasperation. He threw up his hands and turned away, and after a moment, scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “But I’m glad you didn’t,” she added softly.

Khadgar stilled, but didn’t turn back to her.

“I knew what I was risking when I accepted the assignment to accompany you through the portal,” Ashen continued. “So did the others. There’s a reason command is called a burden. Soldiers die that objectives can be met, and innocents can be protected. It is your duty to spend their lives wisely…but to spend them when it is necessary.”

Khadgar had turned his head toward her just enough that she could see his face in profile. She watched silently as anger, grief, and understanding warred for space on his moonlight silvered features. “You agreed to serve under my command, thinking me foolish?” He asked harshly.

Ashen blinked, and strode around him angrily, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t you dare twist my words,” she snapped. “I _never_ called you foolish. You are a good man, and I respect you enough to reveal your blind spots and spare you pain of future oversights. You asked for honest counsel and I gave it.”

He stared down at her for a long moment, the glow slowly fading from his eyes. Khadgar sighed, finally, and nodded. “Ashen…”

Ashen studied him, eyes widening on a flash of insight. “Khadgar,” she said hesitantly, “I doubt anyone here truly thinks you foolish, regardless of what might have been said.”

Khadgar stiffened, and his gaze snapped to her. “Commander, has anyone told you lately that you’re infuriating?”

“You’re the first of the day, but probably not the last,” Ashen answered wryly.

“Infuriating, overly opinionated, and entirely too perceptive,” Khadgar snapped as he strode away.

“It’s not too late to replace me,” Ashen couldn’t resist calling after him.


	7. Lunarfall Landing

After watching Khadgar stride away, Ashen turned to face the sea. The monstrous warship didn’t roll with the waves like vessels she was accustomed to; for the most part it seemed as if the sea gave way before the heavy, spike covered ship. As the wind pulled at her hair and brushed sprays of mist against her face, Ashen watched the moonlight on the waves while her focus turned inward.

She shouldn’t have taken that parting shot at Khadgar.

With a grimace of frustration, Ashen reached up and loosened the knot holding her hair before moving toward her pack. The leather ties were scattered over the deck where they’d been standing while Khadgar helped her with her armor, and as she took a step one caught on her boot. Eyeing the refuse, the death knight sank into a crouch before her pack and rummaged briefly through her things. When her fingers finally closed around a comb, she moved back to the base of the cannon and set to work taming her hair.

With every stroke of the comb, and every nimble, practiced movement of her fingers as she tightly braided her hair, Ashen regained a little of her emotional equilibrium. Despite her openness in response to Khadgar’s curiosity, she’d barely scratched the surface of what her transformation meant. It wasn’t exactly something that could be explained—there was a great deal the death knights themselves didn’t understand, and the disparity in the individual transformations of the knights didn’t help. Ashen had retained more of herself than was common, but she hadn’t escaped unscathed emotionally.

Ashen could remember that there was a time she hadn’t viewed her experiences through a lens of detached numbness. Now, though, numb seemed to be her default setting. The emotion was there, but it was muffled and distant—almost like the responses were someone else’s. When something managed to punch through that barrier of detachment, Ashen felt like she was drowning; her emotions raged out of her control with a kind of intensity that frightened her. She had believed her life had been difficult, but undeath trumped that by an order of magnitude. Since coming through the portal, there had been so many things that punched through her defenses, and she found herself grieving the easy balance she had once possessed. 

In some ways, it was like starting over; Ashen was slowly relearning how to find her balance when the metaphorical rug got yanked out from under her feet. Khadgar, however, was a catalyst she wasn’t prepared for. She’d learned to expect things to knock her out of her apathy, but she’d never had anything just bypass her defenses as completely as Khadgar had. Somehow, he’d managed to just waltz past the detachment and its polar opposite. While talking with the mage, Ashen had truly felt like herself for the first time since…

Well. She hadn’t been “Ashen” then.

Her fingers slowed with the careful braiding, prolonging the comfort drawn from the familiar action. Ashen reached down and picked up one of the leather ties near her foot, and started carefully binding the end of the braid. Securing the ends of the leather tie, the death knight tossed the long braid over her shoulder and turned her gaze back to the debris on the deck. Khadgar had dropped the ties—as well as the armor pieces—somewhat carelessly, clearly unbothered by the mess he’d made. It made her wonder what his study would look like.

 _Probably clutter everywhere,_ Ashen decided as she began picking up the leather straps and wrapping them in a neat bundle. The armor pieces were next; she picked up the pauldrons and secured everything to her pack. The armor could be melted down and the metal reused, and the leather could stand in for the hair pins that she’d lost. Waste not, and all that.

With a final yank on the pack to make sure it was properly secured to the chain railing, Ashen took a deep breath and stood. Out of habit, she absently brought her right hand up to grasp her pendant, only to have her fingers find it missing. She grimaced, both at its absence and having briefly forgotten it was gone. It seemed selfish to grieve the loss of a keepsake when so many lives had been lost, so she shook it off and noted the lightening of the horizon.

She’d procrastinated long enough. Khadgar had voiced the opinion that she’d earned the right to command the Alliance forces, but she knew they’d done the easy part. Figuring out how to accomplish their objectives with limited personnel and resources would be a more accurate test of her suitability. With a last glance at the waves, Ashen turned and strode aft, her thoughts turned toward her duties.

*

The phrase ‘giant dwarf’ was a contradiction, but it applied to Hansel Heavyhands. As the dwarf leaned past Ashen slightly, pointing at the boiler they were examining, the top of his head was a few inches below her shoulder. Ashen had located the pair of Dark Iron dwarves at the ship’s controls, and Thaelin had promptly dragged her below deck to explain his discoveries about the ship. His enthusiasm had jolted a snoring Hansel awake, prompting a good bit of flailing and swearing.

The boiler room was lit only by the wavering, red-orange glow from the furnaces attached to the boilers. The room was so hot that even Ashen was sweating. She eyed the boiler Hansel was pointing at as the dwarf continued. “So, these bad boys are drivin’ the engines, an’ this one’s the primary.”

“Right,” Thaelin confirmed. “Brilliant bit, this, an’ surprisin’ for a buncha orcs. ‘Specially if they were workin’ from Goblin schematics. I mean, _look_ at this thing!” Thaelin exclaimed, throwing his hands wide in a gesture that encompassed the whole ship.

Ashen folded her arms and lifted a brow at him. “You’re a fan, are you?”

“Er, no, Commander. Ship’s uglier than a warty arse. This redundancy for the engines though…” the engineer trailed off as he turned back toward the boiler, lost in thought.

Ashen glanced to Hansel, who shrugged. “My understanding of this sort of thing is limited, but I was expecting to see only one boiler.”

“Tha’s just it, lass. This one’s runnin’ the engines now, but were it to be damaged—or the pipes from it damaged—this other one here could give the engines enough power to get the ship away from battle,” Hansel explained. 

The death knight’s brows drew down sharply and her eyes narrowed. “That’s assuming an orc commander would retreat with a damaged ship—”

“Which we’d expect them to view as cowardice, yeah,” Thaelin said, glancing at her. “Thought you’d find it interestin’.”

Ashen drummed the fingers of one hand against the elbow of the other arm as she thought for a moment. “I think we can safely toss our assumptions out the window at this point. Those based on the Horde that came through the Dark Portal in our timeline, I mean. Can you imagine if they’d been this well-equipped?” She asked the pair of dwarves softly.

Hansel and Thaelin exchanged glances.

“Well, it’s a moot point now,” Thaelin said bracingly. “Though I’d love tae meet whoever came up with this. Looks like they’re still learning—look, there’s mistakes in the set up with the pipes,” the engineer told Ashen as he pointed at a run of metal pipes that left the boiler tank and vanished through a wall to their right. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ashen said drily.

“Point is,” Thaelin continued, dropping his arm and turning to face her, “The Iron Horde’s got someone, or several someones, who were able to take the Goblins’ engineering and adapt it to suit their needs. This is a damn sight better than what we’d see from a buncha Goblins, Commander, and this bloke’s still _learning._ ”

“It’s certainly a concern, but it’s one for another day,” Ashen responded after a long moment of silence. Thaelin studied her grim expression, then nodded. This version of the Horde was orderly, displayed discipline, and had the technical expertise to build siege and naval equipment. It was, as she’d told Thaelin, a worry for another time. Still…without the frenzy of fel crazed bloodlust, this Horde was a far greater threat than the original one had ever been.

And the original one had decimated the human kingdoms, and left a path of destruction through other races’ holdings. Decades had passed since the arrival of the Horde on Azeroth, and wounds still remained.

Shoving her musings, aside, Ashen unfolded her arms and pointed at the furnace, then the boiler. “Any chance we could pull these and turn them into forges?”

Both dwarves were mute for several moments with identical expressions of astonishment. “Come again, lass?” Hansel said finally.

“Assuming the draenei allow us to remain in their lands, it’d be a shame to waste this ship the Iron Horde graciously provided us,” Ashen told the pair wryly. “I’d like you to look into salvaging this monster for parts and materials. These,” she continued with another gesture at the boilers, “don’t look too far off from forges to me.”

“It’d take some doin’, but we can do it,” Thaelin answered as he clapped his hands together in growing excitement. “An’ with forges, an’ after bustin’ up the armor on this thing, we’ll have a decent start on reforgin’ weapons and makin’ tools.”

Hansel cackled gleefully. “It’s like the Feast o’ soddin’ Winterveil. I get tae blow this thing tae bits!”

“ _Useable_ bits,” Ashen said sternly, lifting a brow at him.

“Och, fine. _Useable bits,_ ” Hansel grumbled in a falsetto that didn’t come close to sounding like Ashen. 

The death knight’s other brow rose as she looked down at the demolitionist. Hansel began to fidget under her silent scrutiny, and Thaelin leaned around her with an exasperated look that clearly said ‘idiot’.

“My…apologies, Commander,” Hansel said as he came to attention.

Ashen studied him through narrowed eyes. “You should apologize,” she said shortly. “That was the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard.”

Hansel’s face went slack with surprise, and after a moment Thaelin whooped with laughter. Another moment passed before Hansel joined him. “I thought ya were gonna skewer me,” Hansel wheezed when he could finally breathe again.

“If I did that, I’d have to set my own charges. No thank you,” Ashen retorted.

Hansel beamed at her.

“Nah. He could set charges as a ghoul, couldn’t he?” Thaelin asked innocently as he headed for the door. “Commander, I’ve got a pretty good idea of the layout for this beastie, but I’ll finish figurin’ so we’ll know where to put charges.”

“Thank you, Thaelin.”

“Aye, Commander,” the engineer called back over his shoulder as he stumped up the stairs and out of sight.

Hansel sputtered indignantly. “A ghoul! I couldnae set charges as a ghoul! If he werenae me best pal, I’d…well, it wouldnae be pretty!”

Ashen bit back a smile as she turned away from the boilers to make the climb back above deck. “I happen to agree with you, so you’re safe enough for now.”

“That’s a relief, that is,” Hansel muttered. Ashen had a boot on the first step when she heard the dwarf clear his throat behind her. “Uh, Commander. Speakin’ of me best pal…”

She stopped and turned slightly to look back at Hansel, who was scuffing the toe of his boot against the planking sheepishly. 

“Thaelin told me wha’ happened afore we reached ya at the tank, as we were escapin’. Thaelin and me—we been pals for a long time, Commander. Ya saved his life, an’ I won’t forget it.” Hansel straightened and saluted Ashen, who returned the salute in bemusement. “Whatever ya need done, ya can count on us. We got yer back, lass.”

“Thank you, Hansel,” Ashen said after a moment. She was at a bit of a loss, but ‘thank you’ seemed safe enough. As she resumed her climb up the steep stairs, she could hear the dwarf thumping along behind her.

*

Khadgar’s perusal of his notes on Outland’s constellations was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. With a sigh, and a bit of blinking to refocus his vision, the mage closed the small journal with a thump. As he tucked the book back into his belt pouch, he cast a searching gaze around the deck of the ship near his perch, noting the rising sun and trickle of people coming up from the hold. Now that his concentration was broken, he was aware that he’d been seated on a rather unforgiving crate for far too long.

He reached for Atiesh as he stood up with a grimace. The staff had been doubling as a lamp, and Khadgar extinguished the light around the carved raven with a flicker of sheepish amusement. _It’s a legendary greatstaff,_ and _a night light. No trivializing of magical artifacts here, no sir._

The rising sun cast the clear sky in shades of gold as Khadgar stood watching survivors make the climb into the light. They emerged singly and in pairs, sometimes limping and leaning on each other, blinking at the sunlight. There were injured below that wouldn’t be making the trek out of the hold, Khadgar knew. He swept their faces with an assessing gaze, feeling the weight of responsibility press harder against his shoulders with every indication of pain and injury he saw. Perhaps it was the rich morning light, or the time he’d spent working through magical complexities as if they were a mental touchstone that prompted the epiphany, but Khadgar abruptly went still as realization struck him. _Trivialization of magic, responsibilities…expectations, and fools. Blind spots, indeed._

Khadgar scrubbed his free hand over his mouth and chin as he forcibly shoved aside flashes of memory. He made a mental note that he most likely owed Ashen an apology; he’d passed her words through a lens formed of his own expectations. ‘Fool’ was a label he’d heard more than once since he’d returned to Azeroth, but at the end of the day, he was the only one who could decide how to fulfill his responsibilities. Khadgar had been surprised to find he’d become a legend in his absence, and the Kirin Tor had definite opinions about his obligations. Everyone had wanted something, or expected something; the extremes had covered everything from making him the next Guardian (once they figured out how) to taking steps to minimize the danger he posed (he still wasn’t certain what he was supposed to have been a danger to). There was still a part of him that was relieved to be away from Dalaran and its unique brand of complications. Ashen was entirely too perceptive—that much he wasn’t going to apologize for. She’d exposed more ‘blind spots’ than she likely realized.

The mage firmly ignored the voice in the back of his mind that was saying Ashen was well on her way to becoming a blind spot. He then took it step further and pretended that he hadn’t noticed her absence in his perusals of the survivors.

A burst of laughter drew Khadgar’s attention, and his gaze found the source as the group of draenei children came racing out of the passage from the hold. Khadgar couldn’t help but grin as they dashed excitedly about the deck, calling to some of the draenei refugees and giggling. It was a marvel; after enduring such hardship and loss, the children were capering in the sunlight with simple, genuine, infectious joy. What made it even better was that in the midst of that mad dancing about, they nearly bowled Cordana Felsong right off her feet. As the Warden approached him, giving the group a comically wide berth and radiating discomfort, Khadgar had to cough to hide a laugh.

“Archmage,” the Warden greeted. Khadgar nodded to her as one of the children came skipping over to him.

“Archmage!” Luuka said cheerfully as he skidded to a stop, making the bird perched on his shoulder chirp reproachfully and flap its wings. “Where’s the weeping lady?”

“The who?” Khadgar asked in confusion as Cordana withdrew to his left. 

Luuka tilted his head to the side, and gave Khadgar a world-weary look of exasperation. “The _weeping_ lady,” the boy repeated, drawing a small index finger in a line from the corner of his eye toward his jaw to indicate tear tracks.

“Oh,” Khadgar exclaimed in amused recognition. “I suppose she does look like she’s crying, doesn’t she? Her name is Ashen, my young friend, and I haven’t seen her this morning.”

Luuka’s narrow, pale blue face scrunched in disappointment, and his bottom lip jutted out for a moment. Khadgar set Atiesh aside with a thump and resettled on the crate so he wasn’t towering over the boy. “I’m sure she’s about somewhere. I think she’ll be quite pleased with how well you’ve cared for the bird,” Khadgar added as an afterthought, blue gaze moving to the bird clinging to the boy’s shoulder.

Luuka had been distracted from his disappointment by the fact that Atiesh remained upright when Khadgar let go of it, and was still peering at the staff trying to figure out what was holding it up. At the mage’s words, his expression brightened, and his gaze snapped to Khadgar’s face. “I told her I wouldn’t let her down! His name is Frosty,” Luuka explained as he reached a small hand up and plucked the bird from his shoulder. 

“Frosty? A rather apt name, I think,” Khadgar said solemnly with a ghost of a smile. His gaze flicked to the bird cupped in Luuka’s small hands with rising curiosity. It was surprising to see the bird was still intact and animated; Khadgar had figured that Ashen’s creation was meant to be temporary. There was something odd about the bird, now that he was looking at it…

“Wanna hold him?” Luuka asked, offering the bird with an earnest expression. Khadgar held his right hand out, palm up, and nodded. Luuka stepped closer and carefully set the bird on the archmage’s palm, then pulled his hands away. “I bet he sings for you, like he singed for me.”

Khadgar and the bird eyed one another for a long moment, the mage noting increased detail on the feathers and around the bird’s eyes. Either it was a trick of the light, or the bird was more lifelike this morning—and it had been impressively lifelike to start with. Luuka made a noise of frustration that made Khadgar’s gaze flick to the boy’s face.

“You gotta talk to him. It’s rude not to,” Luuka informed Khadgar seriously.

“Ah, my apologies to you _and_ Frosty,” the mage said contritely, mouth twitching at the corners. To the bird, Khadgar offered, “Hello there.”

The bird’s small feet were cool against Khadgar’s broad palm as it preened briefly before eyeing him once more with jerking tilts of its head. Concentrating for a moment, Khadgar examined the bird with his arcane sight, only to have his breath catch in surprise. The bird hopped on his palm, then trilled the haunting notes it had produced for Luuka back in the mine. Ashen’s face flitted through his mind’s eye, along with some other brief flashes of imagery—most of it gone before he could grasp it. 

_Ashen’s magical signature?_ Khadgar wondered.

Seen through his magical senses, the bird was aglow with magic. Ashen’s magic was an icy, blue-tinged white at the center of the construct, delicately structured and orderly. Surrounding her magic was a clumsy seal that hadn’t been there the day before. The seal was blue and violet, and connected to Ashen’s magic at key points of the spell form—effectively keeping the temporary magic from unraveling. Khadgar’s astonished gaze moved back to Luuka as the boy reached over to pluck the bird off his palm. 

Luuka had followed Ashen’s instructions to keep the bird safe by instinctively sealing her magic with his own. The amount of will the boy had invested in the seal likely explained the changes Khadgar had noticed. The winter bird was real to Luuka, and magic was often colored by perception and intent. Luuka was a mage with astonishing potential.

“Frosty likes you,” Luuka pronounced, as if this settled a matter of some import. “We’ll stay with you until Ashen gets here, Archmage.”

“I’d welcome the company,” Khadgar told the boy with a warm smile.

“Why are you called Archmage?” Luuka demanded suddenly, face scrunching in a perplexed expression.

“It’s a title,” Khadgar explained. “One I earned through study and demonstration of skill.”

Luuka’s look of confusion only deepened. “What’s the shape in it for?”

“What? What shape in what?” Khadgar blinked down at Luuka, thoroughly distracted from his earlier musings.

“The shape in archmage,” Luuka explained with surprising patience. “None of your magic looked like pieces of circles.”

“I see,” Khadgar said slowly. “The ‘arch’ in archmage isn’t a shape. It’s…hmm, how to explain this. It’s an addition that signifies authority.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Luuka told him with finality.

 _No, I suppose it wouldn’t to a seven-year-old,_ Khadgar thought. He watched as Luuka shuffled the bird up to his shoulder, where it chirped happily and snuggled down next to the boy’s neck. 

Deciding to play along was a tactical error, as Khadgar would realize later. “I seem to recall casting some spells shaped like spheres before we got on the ship,” he told Luuka.

“I remember those!” Luuka enthused. “The big purple explode-y balls!”

Khadgar realized after a moment that he was the source of that strangled noise he was hearing. 

“Those weren’t pieces of circles though,” Luuka continued thoughtfully. “Why aren’t you a ballmage?”

The strangled noise became a full blown, sputtering cough, and Khadgar felt his face turning crimson. _Light have mercy,_ Khadgar thought as he finally managed to get a breath. _I knew there was a reason I refused to teach the first-year apprentices._ _I need to do something before he starts asking what makes balls explode._

Taking a deep breath, Khadgar put a hand on Luuka’s shoulder. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but the title has been ‘archmage’ for a very long time. It’s a tradition. Also,” the mage said as he leaned toward the boy and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “it’s considered rude to call someone a ballmage.” 

_My voice did_ not _just crack, I know it didn’t,_ Khadgar thought helplessly.

Luuka’s eyes widened. “Oh. I’m sorry! I won’t say it anymore.”

“No harm done,” Khadgar said with more assurance than he felt, giving Luuka’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go. He was saved from further awkwardness by the sound of voices drifting toward them from the direction of the hold, one of which happened to be Ashen’s. 

Luuka looked over his shoulder at the sound, then grinned at Khadgar before dashing away to wrap his arms around Ashen’s leg. Khadgar gave an amused snort as Vindicator Maraad steadied Ashen with a hand on her shoulder as she smiled down at a beaming Luuka. He was too far away to hear what she said to the boy, but Luuka pointed at the bird with a grin, then held his arms up to Ashen with an expectant expression.

Khadgar’s amusement faded as Ashen’s expression softened, and she bent to hook Luuka under his arms and lift him easily. Luuka giggled as she swung him up before settling him against her side. The boy wrapped his arms around her neck and leaned his head on her shoulder as Ashen turned back to her conversation with Maraad. 

There was an ache Khadgar couldn’t put a name to lodged somewhere near his heart.

*

Ashen hadn’t even made it out of the hold before she got ambushed by the three draenei. She recognized the slightly raised voices of Maraad and Yrel, and felt her brows lift at what sounded like an argument. 

“That makes no sense,” Yrel said firmly. “It’s clearly meant for use in defense.”

“Perhaps the Commander could give us another perspective,” Exarch Maladaar suggested in amusement as Ashen stepped into the early morning light from the passageway. Maraad and Yrel turned expectant faces toward her.

Ashen eyed the trio suspiciously. “What are we discussing?”

“Discussing might be an overly amicable term, Commander,” Maladaar told her drily. 

“We are engaged in a…philosophical debate about the nature and proper use of a shield,” Maraad explained.

“A shield,” Ashen repeated dubiously. The three blue faces looking back at her were entirely serious. “What is there to debate about a shield?”

“This one,” Yrel said with a wag of a finger in Maraad’s direction, “claims a shield is an offensive weapon—”

“While the acolyte denies this in favor of a purely defensive approach,” Maraad rumbled.

“And your opinion?” Ashen asked a grinning Maladaar, who winked at her. 

“My opinion is that this is very entertaining.”

“Ashen!” The piping voice preceded the weight knocking into her knee by perhaps half a second, and the heavy hand that caught her shoulder was probably the only thing that kept her from flailing. A beaming Luuka looked up at her, arms wrapped around her leg. 

“Good morning, Luuka,” she told him with a smile.

“G’morning,” the boy responded brightly, before pointing at the bird on his shoulder. “Look, I kept Frosty safe!” 

“Frosty? That’s a good name,” Ashen told him as he held up his arms to her with a hopeful expression. Still smiling, the death knight lifted the draenei boy off his hooves and hoisted him into the air, making him laugh in delight. She swung him to the side and tucked him against her hip, cradled by one arm. Spindly arms crept around her neck, and a small head nestled against her shoulder.

“Archmage thought Frosty was a good name, too,” Luuka told her in a too-loud whisper. 

Ashen leaned her cheek against the top of Luuka’s head briefly before turning back to the other three draenei, who were eyeing her in varying degrees of amusement and surprise. She patted Luuka’s knee with her free hand. “Let me finish here, and we’ll go find some breakfast.”

“Okay,” Luuka said, turning his face so he could see the other draenei. 

Maraad was watching her with a smirk. “So, Commander, what’s your verdict?”

“You’re both right, to an extent,” Ashen answered, her gaze moving from Maraad to Yrel. “To use a shield to its full potential, you defend with it and strike with it as the opportunity arises.”

“I knew she would agree with me,” Maraad informed Yrel.

“Sounds to me like she took the middle ground, my friend,” Maladaar countered, arms folded over his chest.

Yrel flung a hand toward Maladaar with an exasperated look. “Thank you,” she told him, before turning a narrow-eyed look on Maraad.

Ashen watched Maraad and Yrel for a moment before exchanging a look with Maladaar, who shrugged slightly. She was about to step away with Luuka when Maraad spoke. 

“Perhaps a demonstration would help. Commander, you’re familiar with the use of a shield, are you not?”

“I haven’t used a shield in years,” Ashen protested. “You could demonstrate shieldwork just as well, I imagine, if not better. Don’t paladins have Light-granted abilities to use with shields?”

“Yes,” Maraad said smugly, with a look at Yrel. “Which someone should have remembered, since someone is an acolyte of the Light.”

Yrel ignored him, in favor of questioning Ashen. “Why don’t you use a shield, Commander?”

“The runic magic channels more effectively through blades,” Ashen answered with a slight lift of her unencumbered shoulder. “None of my order use shields.”

“Still, I imagine you’ve not forgotten how to use one,” Maraad said as he tugged at one of the tendrils near his chin. “It might do some of the less experienced among us good to see a more offensive use of the shield.”

“Why are you pushing this?” Ashen asked him suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

The big paladin shrugged, adopting an innocent expression that was completely unconvincing. “I’ve been told that you are—or were—something of a brawler, Commander.”

“Varian,” Ashen guessed. The vindicator hummed in agreement, and then grinned when Ashen sighed. “I’ll think about it— _after_ we’re settled and have secured supplies.”

“Fair,” Maraad conceded with a nod. “Speaking of the High King, we should talk when you have a moment.” The paladin’s eyes moved down to Luuka’s face before meeting hers once more.

Yrel stepped forward and held her hands out to Luuka. “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll get something to eat, and the Commander can find us when she’s ready.”

Luuka’s hold on Ashen tightened, and he buried his face against her shoulder. Yrel’s face fell slightly at the rebuff. Ashen shifted Luuka slightly so she could pat him with her free hand. “I do need to talk to Maraad for a minute,” she told Luuka softly. “But I’ll have to have something to eat, too, and I promise I’ll find you as soon as I’m done.”

“You’ll come back?” Luuka asked faintly.

Throat tightening in understanding, Ashen shifted the boy so she could wrap him with both arms. “I give you my word that I will find you, and we’ll have breakfast.”

Luuka leaned back and studied her face for a moment, then gave her a serious nod. Ashen set him back on the deck, then sank into a crouch before him and took one of his small hands in hers. “Commanders aren’t allowed to break promises, you know. Besides, I want to hear all about Frosty.”

The boy grinned at her, and allowed Yrel to tug him away. Ashen watched the other woman lead the child away for a moment, before standing and glancing to Maraad, who was studying her thoughtfully. She lifted a brow at him, and the paladin held up his hands in an ‘I didn’t say anything’ gesture.

“Food sounds like an excellent idea,” Maladaar announced. “Vindicator. Commander,” the Exarch inclined his head to them slightly before moving away.

Maraad held a hand out, gesturing for Ashen to go first, and they walked to a clear spot by the port railing. The rumble of the engines was loud enough to cover their conversation, Ashen figured, unless someone was standing beside them. They watched the morning sun paint the waves in white and gold for a moment in silence.

“So,” Maraad rumbled finally, “Khadgar confirmed your posting as Commander.”

Ashen shot the paladin a narrow-eyed look. “Were you eavesdropping, Maraad?”

“Of course not,” he huffed, not looking at her. “It’s a small ship. Also…he was shouting, you were shouting…”

“Did they teach eavesdropping at Karabor, or did you pick that up later? Somewhere on Azeroth, maybe?”

“Hmph.”

Ashen tucked a strand of hair the wind had tugged from her braid back behind one of her long, pointed ears. “It’s not really a small ship, and the engines are quite loud, even here.”

“I might have seen you talking with him, and I might have been standing over there,” the paladin admitted, pointing at a spot further toward the prow. 

“You’re a nosy bastard,” Ashen teased with a grin.

“I needed a change of pace from being a sparkling presence in your life,” Maraad retorted acerbically, but he smirked at her as he said it. He waved a massive hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’m glad you reached an agreement. Varian wanted you in command of this from the beginning, but said you objected somewhat…strongly.”

“My objections are still valid. How do you think the Prophet is going to respond to receiving an armed force from another world led by _me_?” Ashen cast a sideways glance at Maraad, who looked down at her impassively.

“Probably not as badly as you expect,” he answered seriously after considering for a moment. Maraad shifted his weight with a faint creak of leather and rattle of plate. “We were here for centuries before…”

Ashen watched his expression darken, and remained silent, giving him room to speak when he was ready.

“We were here for centuries,” the paladin continued, clearing his throat. “It was long enough to settle and view this as home, and wonder if we’d finally outrun the Legion. We were different here—the Prophet was different here.”

“Different?” Ashen prompted softly.

“At peace,” Maraad answered faintly. “Though now I wonder if ‘complacent’ is a better word.”

“What happened isn’t—”

“What happened could have been prevented if we had acted!” Maraad snapped, eyes blazing. Ashen held his gaze steadily, and after several moments of seething, the paladin took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. “Apologies, Ashen.”

“Unnecessary,” she told him. “But accepted all the same.”

Maraad shifted again, sweeping a troubled gaze over the ship, the survivors, and finally Ashen herself. “The betrayals here hardened us all. This Prophet will have never encountered one of your kind, and will likely be inclined toward compassion.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Have some faith, old friend,” Maraad said with a companionable thump of a hand against her shoulder. “Exarch Maladaar believes we should see the coast of Shadowmoon Valley shortly after dawn tomorrow.”

Ashen nodded an acknowledgement, and the unlikely pair of friends turned their gazes back to the waves in silence.

*

Ashen stood at the prow of the ship the next morning, watching the sky slowly growing darker on the ship’s heading. The rest of the previous day had passed in a blur of necessary conversations, all but the one with Maraad conducted with Luuka clinging to one of her hands like a lifeline. The few words she’d exchanged with Khadgar had mostly consisted of his insistence that the Commander of the Alliance forces shouldn’t spend another night sleeping on the deck.

Next to her, Khadgar raked a hand through his hair, eyes narrowed in thought as he studied the horizon. “What is that?” He asked finally. “It doesn’t look like a storm.”

“It looks like a place the sunlight doesn’t reach. I think I can see stars there,” Ashen told him.

Khadgar blinked and looked over at her, brows rising. “You can see that from here?”

The death knight shrugged.

“It’s called ‘Shadowmoon Valley’ for a reason,” Exarch Maladaar offered, his tone amused. “We’ll make landfall soon, and by the time we do we’ll have left the day behind us.”

“Perpetual night?” Ashen asked, glancing around Khadgar at the Exarch.

“I imagine you’ll be able to distinguish between the night and day with sight that keen, but yes. For all intents and purposes, it’s always night in Shadowmoon.”

Ashen glanced at Khadgar and lifted her brows. “That’s going to be a problem for the humans.”

“Hey,” he protested, brows lowering.

“She’s right. You get sleepy when it’s dark, don’t you?” Maraad asked.

“Hmph.”

“That was a collective ‘you’,” Ashen explained in an effort to soften the blow.

Khadgar waved the comment away. “I’m sure we’ll adjust. Eventually.” He tightened his grip on Atiesh and turned his head to meet Ashen’s gaze. “You’re sure about how you want to do this?”

“First impressions are important,” Ashen confirmed.

“You get to tell Cordana she’s staying on the ship, then,” Khadgar muttered.

“They’re not going to skewer you on the beach,” Ashen pointed out mildly. “She’ll be fine with watching from the ship for a few minutes.” That earned her another ‘hmph’, and Ashen cut her eyes over at Khadgar to see a faint expression of displeasure on his face. Her brows flicked upward in silence; it wasn’t the first indication she’d gotten from Khadgar that he was at odds with the Warden for some reason.

 _None of my business,_ Ashen told herself firmly.

The light faded rapidly, surrounding them with an artificial twilight. Ashen and Khadgar watched the changing sky in silence and varying degrees of fascination. The ship chuffed into calmer waters, and Ashen could see a faint line forming on the horizon. As the coast came into view, the lingering daylight faded into night. She turned her face skyward, gaze sweeping the starry sky with an inner flicker of wonder. The moons were massive, hanging low on the horizon where there had only been daylight before. 

Ashen’s gaze dropped from her perusal of the sky as the ship shuddered and began to slow. “Guide them into the harbor you mentioned, if you would,” she directed Maladaar.

With a nod of acknowledgement, the draenei Exarch moved aft, and her gaze moved forward once more. Everything seemed to happen quickly after that, probably because she wasn’t looking forward to the initial contact with the draenei. Despite Maraad’s reassurances, her concern lingered. Velen was a powerful, devoted follower of the Light.

_And I’m one of the damned._

The ship slowed further, shuddering with each deceleration, as it moved into a natural harbor. Ashen could see a party of draenei waiting a distance back from the beach. Prophet Velen was easy to spot, due to his height, flowing white beard, and luminous, crystal studded staff. The party with him wasn’t overtly threatening, but they’d clearly come prepared. There were mounted outriders as well as heavily armed vindicators in the Prophet’s entourage.

“We’re ready,” Maraad told her.

Ashen took a deep breath, then looked over at him. “Run the ship aground.”

The orders were shouted back, relayed to the bridge. A moment later the ship groaned, and shuddered, and everyone lurched and grabbed for support as the prow ploughed into the sandy bottom of the bay. Ashen straightened, and Khadgar briefly set Atiesh aside with a thump before tugging his gloves into place and brushing a hand over his hair. 

“Well, no turning back now,” he said simply. “Shall we?”

Their gazes met and held for a moment, and she nodded. Khadgar wrapped a hand around Atiesh, then lifted his other hand and made a fist. With a flare of light and swirl of feathers, the mage morphed into a raven and dove away from the prow of the stolen ship. Ashen stepped back to the chain railing and watched as he skimmed gracefully over the water, then climbed higher with powerful strokes of his wings. 

After a few moments, she saw him flutter to the beach before Velen, and assume his real form in another flash of light. Khadgar made a gesture toward the ship, and after a moment Velen nodded once before withdrawing further up the beach. Khadgar turned and met her gaze, lifting a hand to give her the go-ahead. Stepping away from the railing, Ashen turned to Vindicator Maraad. “Khadgar’s ready to teleport your people ashore.”

It took a few minutes for the refugees to shuffle into the circle Khadgar had drawn on the planking at the prow and get pulled to shore. The chalk circle of runes gave him something to latch on to, as a contingency for not having line of sight after the ship ran aground. It appeared to be going smoothly, from what she could see. Khadgar teleported the injured ashore first, followed by caretakers and children, then the rest of the refugees. 

Maraad joined her as the last group shuffled into the circle, vanishing a few moments later in a flare of white light. “Remember,” the paladin told her quietly, “have faith.”

Ashen’s mouth compressed in a grim line for a moment to bite back the acerbic response that threatened to emerge. She finally nodded, and Maraad held a hand toward the rune circle. With a deep breath, Ashen retreated into the glacial calm that served her well on battle fields, and stepped into the circle with Maraad at her heels.

Khadgar’s power wrapped around them, making the fine hairs on her neck lift and goosebumps race over her skin. A flash of light and a brief sensation of motion later, Ashen’s boots sank into the sand, and she strode forward after regaining her bearings. Shadowmoon Valley loomed behind the waiting draenei, all dark blue-greens, purples, and blues. Magic called to her from the forested land, and her gaze swept the tree line before returning to the Prophet. She stopped a few steps away from the tall, bearded leader of the draenei, and Maraad stepped up to her side.

“My Prophet,” Maraad began, “this is—”

“Lady Ashen, Commander in the Alliance Forces, sworn to the house of the High King,” Velen rasped, thready voice filled with power. “The ‘brave one’.” Ashen blinked in surprise, a reaction Velen noted with a slight smile. “The Light sees you, child, despite what you may believe.”

Suddenly speechless, Ashen bowed before the ancient draenei to buy a moment to regain her composure. “Prophet Velen, greetings on behalf of the Alliance.”

“I have been waiting for you,” Velen told her. “Walk with me. Your people are welcome here, and may disembark.”

Ashen nodded then looked to Maraad with a lift of a brow. “I’ll see to it, Commander.”

The death knight walked to Velen, who turned and started up a trail leading away from the natural harbor. Behind her, she heard Maraad speak again, and glanced over her shoulder to see Khadgar watching her, his path barred by the paladin. She didn’t catch what was said, but Khadgar’s blue gaze snapped to the draenei and his brow furrowed before he finally nodded. Both men turned back toward the beach, and Ashen glanced back to the Prophet once more.

“The wizard is concerned for you,” Velen noted, voice tinged with mirth. “Perhaps he fears I might bite you?”

Startled by the humor, Ashen blinked over at him as the corners of her mouth twitched upward. Her slight smile faded as they followed the path up a sharp rise. “Or perhaps he fears what the Light’s judgement might do to me.”

“The Light chooses its champions and servants with care, Commander. You are not here by mistake.” The Prophet led her around a bend, then took another path that ended on a rise overlooking the harbor. Ashen stopped at his side, gaze sweeping the water, the ship, and movement on the beach. The rise was ringed by tall trees with trailing, wispy boughs that rustled gently in the breeze. It was beautiful.

Ashen looked back to find the draenei studying her with knowing violet eyes. “The Light showed me many possibilities for those who would arrive, but I confess I am glad to find you are the one to arrive as leader. Out of all the possibilities, only you stepped onto the beach with open hands, empty of weapons.”

The draenei held a hand out to her, palm up. “I know dark times lie ahead, for your people and mine. However, my visions have been clouded. I see your peaceful arrival, and then everything is shrouded in darkness. It’s as if time is stacked on itself,” he mused. “Forgive me, child, but I must know if I have made a mistake.”

“I understand,” Ashen told him as she placed her hand in his. Long, pale lavender fingers closed around her hand gently.

“You’ve endured this before, haven’t you?” Velen asked as his gaze moved over her face. She gave him a terse nod. “I will spare you what I can.”

She took a deep breath, then gave the Prophet a last nod. “I’m ready.”

It was a lie. Even though she’d been braced for the pain, it still robbed her of breath—it robbed her of everything, even thought. As Velen brought the Light to bear on her to see into the truth of her intentions, her teeth clenched and her muscles locked in protest. Many theologians argued she and her kind were damned, irredeemable, lost. Whether it was true or not, the Light certainly objected to the dark magic that had transformed her.

Velen kept his promise; she endured the pain, but was spared seeing what was revealed to him. The pain ceased abruptly, leaving only the golden, blazing Light around them. Ashen blinked at him, trying to catch her breath and gather herself. It took her a moment to realize that the Light was still coursing over her, and she met Velen’s gaze in evident confusion.

The Prophet squeezed her hand gently. “I had a speech prepared about sacrifice and leadership,” he rasped finally. “But I see now that you understand.”

He released her hand, and Ashen shakily brushed tendrils of her hair away from her face as the Light finally faded. She looked up as a gentle hand settled on her shoulder. “There is something the Light bade me tell you,” Velen said after studying her for a moment. “Your path was lost, but the destination remains.”

Utterly exhausted, Ashen shook her head at him. “I have _no idea_ what that means.”

“Nor do I, as it happens,” Velen admitted. “But when the time is right, you will know.”

“Great,” Ashen said, unable to keep the sour bite from her voice.

Velen surprised her by laughing. “Welcome to Lunarfall, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return, finally, with a very long chapter. I had hoped my estimate of a June update was overly pessimistic, but alas.


	8. A Moment to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters keep getting longer. Thank you for reading my ramblings. 
> 
> Speaking of reading my ramblings, I'd love to hear your thoughts, whether you like it, love it, or loathe it. =)

Ashen swept her glowing gaze over the small city of tents taking shape in the clearing, pleased with the progress they’d made since landing that morning. After ascertaining her intentions, Velen had offered food and other supplies in exchange for help repairing damage to the villages in Shadowmoon and harvesting crops. With the deal struck, the Prophet dispatched runners to make arrangements, and Ashen soon had canvas for tents. Velen and some of his acolytes had also seen to their wounded; most of the survivors were now up and moving, though some would require a few days of rest before they could resume light duties. 

Turning away from the bustle of moving supplies and labor on tents, the death knight strode for the small hut that would serve as their temporary command post. The ship they’d stolen had been a boon in more ways than one; in the captain’s quarters they’d found maps and logs, as well as writing paraphernalia. Shadowmoon Valley was warm and somewhat humid, and Velen had warned her that autumn—and the accompanying rains—were rapidly approaching. The soldiers would have to struggle with some damp until they were better established. The maps, however, needed a dry place.

Cordana Felsong inclined her head as Ashen neared, and the death knight returned the nod briefly before sweeping aside the canvas blocking the doorway and ducking inside the small room. The other reason for the room’s construction was currently frowning down at a spread of loose notes and what appeared to be a worn journal. The table and chair had been lugged into the camp from the ship, and there were a couple of crates pushed against one wall to serve as additional seating. Ashen pushed one over closer to the table, eyeing Khadgar as she did so. Silvery blue light glinted off his hair from three conjured lights that bobbed gently near the room’s ceiling, giving the room the diffuse illumination of a cloudy day.

The scrape of the crate over the ground earned her a brief flicker of attention from Khadgar, who lifted his head and met her gaze briefly before turning back to his notes. She tilted her head slightly as she settled on the crate she’d pushed to the table, and dropped the parcel she’d been holding in one hand on the tabletop. “You found a moment to shave,” she observed, amused.

Khadgar rubbed the backs of his fingers against his jaw, not looking up at her. “It itched,” he answered absently.

It took untying the string binding the waxed paper and revealing the strips of cured meat to draw the mage away from whatever was bothering him. Bright blue eyes flicked from the parcel’s contents to her face, and she wordlessly offered the parcel to him. He snatched one of the strips and popped it in his mouth, then reached for a second one as he chewed. After a moment, his eyes closed and he made an appreciative rumble. The second strip vanished, and Khadgar’s eyes met hers as he lifted his brows questioningly while reaching for another. At her nod of permission, he snatched a third strip, then waved it at her before looking down at his notes again.

“This is good. Interesting combination of flavors…what is it?”

“The flesh of my enemies!” Ashen intoned dramatically as she raised a clenched fist, certain Khadgar was only half listening.

One of the more amusing side effects of the transformation was the change to her voice. Now when she wished to sound dark and sinister she could pull it off most of the time. This was apparently one of those times; to her amusement, Khadgar’s eyes went wide and he stopped chewing. The muscles in his jaw stood out as his teeth clicked together, and she could practically hear his mind racing as he tried to decide if he should swallow that mouthful or spit it out. She let him stew for a moment before taking pity on him. At least he was paying attention, if that look of glazed horror in his eyes was any indication.

“It’s cured pork from the royal kitchen in Stormwind,” Ashen told him mildly. 

The expression on Khadgar’s handsome face went through some interesting changes as he eyed her, and the chewing slowly resumed. She held his gaze, but couldn’t help smirking as she saluted him with a strip of the pork before popping it into her mouth. He finally snorted in amusement and leaned back in the bulky chair. 

“Must’ve been some pig, if it ended up on your list of enemies,” the mage told her laughingly. “You’re a terrible person, by the way.”

“It was a battle of epic proportions,” Ashen informed him wryly, “against a porcine monster as tall as a horse, wearing a pink bow and a tag that said ‘Princess.’”

Khadgar laughed, eyes crinkling around the corners. “From a farm in Elwynn Forest that always seems to have a problem with rampaging pigs?”

“Named Princess, yes. It’s like that place is stuck in a time loop or something.”

Khadgar’s head thumped against the back of the chair as he groaned theatrically. “Not funny,” he muttered. “Have I mentioned I have a paralyzing fear of paradoxes? That’s why I don’t do any time travel.”

Ashen’s brows slowly rose as that statement hung between them. His brows lowered and he gave her a warning look as he reached for another strip of the meat. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Abominably. Thanks for asking,” Khadgar retorted, eyes glinting with reluctant mirth.

They settled into companionable silence, steadily depleting the bundle of cured pork strips. Khadgar’s expression and posture were more relaxed—by far—than when she’d entered, even with the glances he was taking at the notes and sketches littering the table. Finally, Khadgar flicked the paper with the last strip toward her, and she took the strip before folding the paper into successively smaller squares.

“Want to talk about it?” Ashen asked after a moment.

Khadgar blinked, faintly glowing blue eyes meeting hers. “About what?”

She waved the small square of waxed paper in a vague gesture at their surroundings. “About whatever had you glaring at the table like it was your worst enemy.”

Khadgar leaned his head against the back of the chair, and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s been a long day. Not sure where to start answering that, honestly.”

“The beginning usually works well,” Ashen couldn’t help pointing out.

With a roll of his eyes, Khadgar cleared his throat and affected a snobby, stentorian tone. “When I was but a lad—”

“You were still an unbearable arse?” Ashen suggested innocently.

“More than likely,” the mage answered with a huff of laughter. He scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair and sighed, looking away as he thought for a moment. 

“You know the twin mages in our ragtag little band, right?” Khadgar asked finally, sitting forward and bracing his elbows on the table before propping his chin on his joined hands. Ashen nodded. “April and May Sutherton—or something like that. Anyway, it’s something of a mystery how they managed to live this long, since neither of them have power enough to do much aside from light the occasional candle—what are they doing _here_ , Commander? I end up with these two under my feet determined to help teleport supplies off the ship. At first they don’t manage to teleport anything, then crates start landing in the water or shooting across the deck like cannonballs—”

Ashen cleared her throat in an attempt not to laugh at Khadgar’s aggrieved tone.

“—so I ask, very tactfully I might add, if they’ll focus on making crates lighter and helping to get everything above deck so _I_ can move the supplies without killing anyone. So they go and do that, and then their magic just evaporates—POOF!” Khadgar threw his hands wide, sitting up straight as he did so. “And these crates become heavy and are promptly dropped, resulting in a broken foot, smashed fingers and shattered crates all around. It’s a miracle they haven’t managed to kill someone through sheer ineptitude. So, again, I divert them. This time they _cry,_ ” Khadgar told her, a strangled emphasis on ‘cry’, as if was the most horrifying thing he’d witnessed recently.

“That’s…odd. I seem to recall seeing them fighting and holding their own during the retreat.” Khadgar nodded and held his hands up in a ‘who knows’ gesture. “I’ll keep an eye on them. It could be anything from stress to an extension of the magical difficulties you’ve encountered.” Ashen eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “There’s something else bothering you.”

Khadgar grimaced and scrubbed his hands over his face, but didn’t deny it. Eyes flicking toward the canvas covered door, the mage lifted a hand and cast a ward around the table that was just big enough to encompass the two of them. At Ashen’s perplexed expression, he shrugged. “To keep sound from carrying,” Khadgar explained.

“Ah.”

“After that debacle, you and I spoke briefly about magically concealing the camp, wards, and so on. Simple enough, except for all of the time I spent arguing with Cordana.” He paused for a moment. “One of the wards detonated, too.”

“Any idea why?” Ashen asked curiously.

“Sort of. I’m adding fire to my list of ‘magic that goes crazy on Draenor for no apparent reason.’” Khadgar studied her for a moment, then leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. “Ashen…what were you discussing with Cordana? When we left the vanguard behind at the portal and stopped in that orc village, the two of you rejoined us mid-conversation,” he prompted.

“Nothing that’s still relevant,” Ashen told him. “I had a list of orders from Varian,” she continued after a moment, eyes on his, expression serious. “In the event the mission was not survivable, I was to make sure you returned to Azeroth…even if I had to use force to make you leave the soldiers behind. But you had a Warden, so there was no reason not to delegate that to her. It was an order at the end of a list of last resorts,” Ashen explained. 

Khadgar studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I can’t take a step without tripping over her,” he told Ashen finally. “The draenei told me the area was clear, except for the local fauna, which I never saw while I was setting the wards. It’s…suffocating. I can’t sit here under guard. She fights me on everything.”

“To be fair, she’s had a rough few days. And at the risk of being too honest,” Ashen said as she folded her arms on the table, leaned toward him, and flicked one brow upward, “You haven’t exactly been easy to guard. Cordana is from one of the most accomplished orders of fighters on Azeroth, and it wouldn’t surprise me if every scrape you’ve been in since we got here feels like failure to her.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Khadgar said through his teeth, leaning further forward so their faces were only a few inches apart. 

Ashen lifted a shoulder in a graceful half-shrug. “That’s between you and her. It’s not a bad thing to have someone at your back to ensure a blade doesn’t get stuck in it while your attention is elsewhere—which is about the only thing I could see being troublesome for you.”

The archmage sat back with a sigh, remembering the assassins at the portal. “Tanaan. Fine, fair point. I’ll talk to her and try to reach an understanding we can each live with. This situation isn’t safe for any of us, and won’t be until we’ve won and can go home.” He waved a hand, and Ashen felt the faint tracery of magic ringing the table unravel. “And if we are to get this done, I can’t just twiddle my thumbs somewhere like some kind of absentee magical mastermind.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ashen agreed, tone mild. 

“Other than that,” Khadgar sighed with a flick of his fingers at the scattered papers, “it’s just more of the same—interference with attempts at teleportation that I don’t have an explanation for as yet, and so on. I feel like the answer is staring me in the face,” he muttered, sliding a hand across the sketches and spreading them apart. 

Ashen picked up one of the drawings, and studied it as her brows drew together. “You’re charting the planetary alignments?”

“As part of the comparisons of the two versions of the Dark Portal, yes.” Khadgar pulled another paper from the mess and turned it around, setting it next to the one Ashen had selected. She smoothed both drawings and studied them with interest, aware that Khadgar was watching her closely.

“Commander,” Maraad’s deep, accented voice said from over her shoulder as the canvas swished aside. “My apologies for interrupting—”

“It’s alright. I’ll be there momentarily,” Ashen told the paladin, who nodded and let the canvas fall across the door once more. Ashen passed the sketches back to Khadgar, who accepted them with a slight nod. She glanced at the drawings in his hand as she stood and shoved the crate aside. There was something about the sketches that nagged at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Ashen met Khadgar’s gaze. “You’ll figure it out,” she told him.

“I certainly hope so,” the mage muttered, dropping the sketches on the table. “I hate the thought of leaving you here without reliable magical aid.” To Ashen’s puzzlement, Khadgar’s blue eyes widened briefly and he swallowed. “That’s to say, it would be inconvenient if we were unable to bring in additional mages to handle wards and whatnot for the Alliance forces…”

Ashen nodded her agreement, confused by his inexplicable fluster. “I agree. I’d prefer to have the help, but we’ll make do if it comes to it. Either way, the answer will come to you eventually.”

“Right,” Khadgar agreed hastily, rubbing the back of his neck and not quite meeting her eyes. Ashen batted the canvas aside and ducked out of the hut, with a last, puzzled glance back at him. He’d seemed embarrassed, but she had no idea why.

With a mental shrug, Ashen walked through the camp toward the path down to the beach, where she’d seen the glimmer of moonlight on Maraad’s plate armor. The huge paladin was standing with his arms folded over his chest, looking down at Hansel and Thaelin with a dubious expression. Thaelin waved at her, and Hansel offered her a jaunty salute as she stopped next to Maraad. There was a barrel between the two dwarves, and she had just enough time to wonder what it contained before the stench hit her. Ashen’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and her gaze flicked to Maraad when he made a sound of amusement.

“That was my reaction also,” he told her.

“The smell alone is enough to kill someone,” the death knight muttered. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration; the fumes from the barrel’s fermented contents were so strong they were almost visible in the deepening twilight.

“Well, sure, it smells bad enough. Tastes almost as bad. It’s the kick that counts, lass,” Hansel explained. “And phew, does this stuff have a kick.”

Brows rising incredulously, Ashen pointed at the barrel. “You _drank_ some of this? Are you sure it’s not engine degreaser?”

“Oh, aye,” Hansel confirmed blithely. “It’s swill, not engine degreaser.”

“If you’re still alive in an hour we’ll call it safe-ish,” Ashen said wryly. Hansel just shrugged, and she exchanged a glance with Maraad. “How much of this did you find?”

“Barrels enough to get the camp soused and then some, I ‘spect,” Thaelin replied after a moment.

The corners of Ashen’s mouth twitched upward, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Excellent. Bring them to camp.”

The two dwarves gave hooting cheers and paused for a fist bump before scrambling down toward the ship. Maraad sighed and followed them at a more dignified pace. She watched the odd procession for a moment, then turned away to locate Prophet Velen.  
  
*

The canvas fell back across the door, blocking Ashen’s retreating figure from view. Khadgar blew out a noisy sigh and tunneled his fingers through his hair in frustration, fingertips digging into his scalp. _Maybe there are side effects to the magical oddities here. Either that, or I’m losing my wits because I’m a daft old man._

He’d nearly choked on the realization that he’d used a singular ‘you’ in response to Ashen’s encouragement. Khadgar had been certain she’d heard it—that she’d realized she was the focus of his concern rather than the group as a whole. Instead, she hadn’t noticed, and it would have been fine if he hadn’t tried to dig himself out the hole she didn’t even see. Ashen had looked slightly perplexed at his sudden attack of awkward, but that was the extent of it. For a moment it’d been like he was a teenager suddenly confronted with the girl he was infatuated with and completely terrified to speak to.

Which was ridiculous, since the only thing he’d been terrified of as a teenager—prior to apprenticing to Medivh, at least—was being caught in a library he wasn’t supposed to be in with a book he wasn’t supposed to be reading. And after that he’d come to accept that the sort of companionship Turalyon had found in Alleria wasn’t going to happen for him. Becoming elderly at the tender age of seventeen had a way of dashing one’s hopes and altering one’s life plans. 

And he wasn’t infatuated with her, because that would also be ridiculous. Ashen was just…interesting…and strikingly beautiful…

The archmage harrumphed to himself as he straightened in his seat and started rearranging the papers littering the table. Khadgar’s discipline and strength of will came to his rescue; he set aside thoughts of the Commander and focused on his work, and was soon oblivious to anything else, including the passage of time.

*

Khadgar was pulled from his concentration a few hours later, though he wasn’t entirely certain why. As he closed his journal and stretched, he realized he could smell food cooking, and his stomach promptly rumbled in response. The sounds coming from the camp had also changed; while it still sounded busy outside the small hut, there was an undercurrent of cheer that hadn’t been present earlier in the day. Running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it, Khadgar stood and swiped the canvas aside before stepping out into the camp.

“Archmage,” Cordana greeted from her post near the door. Khadgar glanced over at her and nodded briefly, then resumed his examination of the camp.

“They’ve certainly been busy,” he said in an absent aside to Cordana.

The camp was situated in a large clearing on a rise near the natural harbor. Tents had been pitched in neat rows, with space left to accommodate foot traffic. Beyond the sections of tents, a bonfire was blazing in the center of the clearing, with Alliance survivors and Velen’s draenei milling around it. Farther past the fire, by the tree line marking the end of clearing, there were trestle tables covered with food and a blend of Alliance soldiers and draenei helping with the preparations. Meat hung on spits over beds of coals nearby. It certainly wasn’t the unassailable foothold they’d need in the long run, but it was a vast improvement over their initial circumstances.

A rising cheer made Khadgar look toward the path down to the harbor, and he felt a grin spreading over his face. Several men were rolling barrels toward the tables at the other side of the camp. The process involved a great deal of swearing and straining, and good-natured insults exchanged among those trying to wrangle the barrels. Hansel Heavyhands had been trailing behind the group, and broke away to jog toward the bonfire.

“Oi, mates! The booze is here!” The dwarf shouted, thrusting his fists skyward. The camp erupted in another wave of cheers and clapping. Khadgar spotted Ashen near the tables, pointing at a section of ground where the barrels were meant to go. There was a pile of tankards, flasks, and canteens they’d found somewhere waiting for the opening of the barrels. Spirits were running high, and the excitement was contagious. 

Never one to turn down food, alcohol, or good company, Khadgar took a step toward the commotion in the clearing. He was halted by a gauntleted hand on his forearm. Cordana released him as he turned toward her, and he eyed her as his brow furrowed.

“Doesn’t this strike you as unwise?” The Warden asked him. “The bonfire will give our location away, and this is hardly the time for—for a kegger!” The cloak that shrouded Cordana parted as she flung a hand at him. “You’re not even armored!”

“The camp is concealed and warded, Cordana. I’m sure the Commander weighed the risks before arranging all of this.” Khadgar swept a thoughtful gaze over the group, who broke into applause as the first barrel was tapped. “It might not be wise, but they need this, I think.”

“They need to get drunk and fail to properly guard the camp?” Cordana asked dubiously.

 _I’m not going to win this one,_ Khadgar thought. 

“I’m going to take advantage of the opportunity for a warm meal,” the mage said as he turned away. “I suggest you do the same—we have a moment of respite, Cordana. Don’t waste it.” 

“You trust her too much,” Cordana said quietly, her tone vehement. “She’s one of the _Damned,_ Archmage. Ashen uses the same magic that made her—”

“Enough.” Khadgar interrupted as he turned back to the Warden with a scowl. “You speak of her as if she chose it,” he continued, disapproval evident in his low voice. He turned away once more and started moving toward the gathered soldiers, unwilling to continue what had the potential to become a battle of wills that would be counterproductive, at best. Khadgar could feel Cordana’s stare pressing between his shoulder blades as whoops and shouts started going up from the crowd.

“Commander! Speech!” A voice from the throng shouted.

Khadgar’s height let him see over the heads of most of the soldiers present, and his gaze found Ashen easily. She was standing with Maraad near the barrels, a bemused expression on her face. Correctly realizing that the death knight had absolutely no desire to give a speech, Khadgar cupped his hands around his mouth and added his voice to the growing number of jocular cries. “Speech!” He hollered at Ashen, voice laced with laughter.

Brightly glowing eyes narrowed and snapped to his face, and he gave her a jaunty wave and toothy grin. Around him, the soldiers lifted fists and started chanting, “Speech, speech, speech!”

As the chant spread through the Alliance forces, Khadgar saw Ashen glance at Maraad, who was grinning at her and saying something he couldn’t hear. Ashen frowned at the paladin and put a hand on her hip before giving a resigned shrug. She held her hands up to the crowd, and they quieted a bit. Despite the otherworldly, slight echo as she spoke, her voice had a velvety warmth that Khadgar liked. “Good evening—”

A cheerful, cheeky shout interrupted her. “We can’t see you back here, Commander!”

Maraad solved that problem by walking behind Ashen and gripping her about the waist. The draenei lifted her easily and set her on her feet atop one of the barrels. Khadgar chuckled as she put a hand on her hip once more and gave Maraad an irritated look. She muttered something to the paladin that prompted a booming laugh as he passed a filled tankard up to her. Ashen’s expression smoothed as she dropped her hand to her side and lifted the tankard in a salute to the assembled soldiers.

The silence deepened as the crowd settled under Ashen’s solemn, glowing gaze. “Tonight we pause, and take a moment to breathe,” she began. “The path that led us here was paved with acts of great courage…with sacrifice, and loss. I saw you stand, fight, and prevail when it was believed our cause could only end in defeat. I have never known a greater honor than to stand with you,” Ashen said seriously, voice carrying through the evening air. 

Around Khadgar, the soldiers moved to attention, and saluted her almost as if they shared one mind. Ashen returned their salute with a fist over her heart before she continued. “Tonight, we stand in remembrance of those who cannot be here, and celebrate their lives and their courage. We stand with our new friends and allies, and honor them for their kindness to a band of strangers in the midst of their own loss.” She lifted the tankard in a toast. “To friends, absent and present, old and new.”

“To friends,” the gathering echoed.

“And to the hangovers you’re all going to have in the morning!” Ashen concluded with a sudden grin. The solemnity evaporated in a wave of laughter as the death knight drained the tankard and then grimaced comically. As Maraad gave her a hand down from the barrel, the laughter shifted into applause and cheers. Ashen motioned toward the food in a gesture of permission, and the group began moving. Khadgar stayed where he was, watching as Ashen set the empty flagon aside and moved to join Prophet Velen at the edge of the clearing.

Motion caught Khadgar’s gaze after a moment as Maraad waved a pair of tankards in one massive hand in his direction. Grinning, the mage walked over to the paladin, who offered him one of the mugs with an answering smirk. By unspoken agreement they moved away from the barrels—which were under siege just as much as the food, if not more so—so they could talk while watching the merriment. As they stopped and turned to face the tumult, Maraad silently hefted his tankard toward Khadgar, who tapped his against it in salute.

Khadgar took a deep breath and drained the mug, then lowered it and lifted his brows. It was truly unpalatable, but it had a kick like an enraged mule. He could feel tendrils of warmth unfurling in the wake of the alcohol. “Now I understand that face she was making,” he told Maraad conversationally.

The draenei was watching him with a morose expression that made Khadgar laugh, even as he motioned questioningly at the other man’s face. Maraad scowled at him. “A word of friendly advice: don’t ever wager with Lady Ashen. I should know better,” the paladin scoffed. “You just cost me ten gold by not flinching when you drank this rot.” The pronouncement was accompanied by a gesture with said rot that sent it sloshing out of the mug.

The archmage tried and failed not to grin. “Like any self-respecting mage, I went through an arcane distillery phase. I’ve been responsible for far more toxic creations than this stuff.”

“Hmph.” Maraad emptied his own tankard and then shook it at Khadgar. “You get to wade back through the line for refills, then.”

Smirking, Khadgar did exactly that.

Conversation with Maraad was interspersed with soldiers stopping to greet them or ask questions, as well as trips to replenish their drinks. Though he was enjoying Maraad’s tales of the day’s humorous moments, Khadgar found himself sweeping the crowd intermittently, searching for a glowing-eyed, moonlight-haired elf. It was like trying to find a ghost. He caught glimpses of Ashen through moving personnel, only to find her gone when his line of sight was no longer obstructed. Khadgar caught flashes of her as she spoke with Velen, and with the soldiers who approached her, and at one point while she was ringed by a gaggle of laughing draenei children led by Luuka. Each time, he promptly lost sight of her again.

Khadgar finally spotted her as one of the human men produced a pipe with a flourish and began playing a toe-tapping tune. The death knight was on the far edge of the clearing, beneath one of the large, dark trees. Luuka was asleep in her arms, head against her shoulder. Behind her, a draenei woman was settling the other children on a blanket. Prophet Velen stood next to her, hands moving as he explained something. Ashen’s expression was serious as she listened and rocked the sleeping Luuka with a gentle swaying motion. 

The cheerful piping was joined by clapping and exuberant, somewhat drunken singing. Khadgar looked away from Ashen and watched in growing amusement as a ring of dancers formed around the bonfire in the center of the clearing. The piping music and singing were largely drowned out by the rhythm of clapping hands and stomping feet as the dancers whirled about the fire. It was the kind of folk dance seen in human villages throughout the Alliance at harvest time; simple, spirited, and full of laughter. 

By Khadgar’s estimation, most of the women had been persuaded to join the dancing. They were outnumbered by the men, and had their choice of partners. Velen’s draenei were watching the proceedings with undisguised interest, and soon an intrepid young night elf coaxed one into participating. The mage watched the firelit, smiling faces, expecting to see that someone had pulled Ashen into the circle.

Not that it was any of his business who managed to drag her into the dance. He tried to ignore the pang of irritation that accompanied the thought of Ashen whirling about the fire with one of the soldiers. 

It turned out to be a rather moot point, because she wasn’t among the dancers. Frowning, Khadgar swept the edges of the clearing near where he’d seen her with Velen and Luuka. Luuka had been put to bed with the other children on the blanket, and Ashen and Velen had walked back toward the tables, still talking. A couple of soldiers walked past the pair without even glancing at her, charming a pair of smiling, blushing draenei women into dancing with them instead. 

Perhaps it was the effect of the horrible brew, or perhaps Khadgar saw a reflection of his own circumstances in her place outside the festivities. Whatever prompted it, Khadgar was struck with the sudden conviction that no one truly _saw_ her. They saw the death knight, the commander, the soldier. Cordana’s admonishment floated through is mind briefly, and he rubbed a hand absently at his jaw. He knew what Ashen was, of course, and what it meant. Yet he couldn’t look at her and simply see those things—not after he’d caught a fleeting glimpse of a kind heart hiding behind a wicked, gallows sense of humor and eyes that saw too much. 

Khadgar was striding across the camp before the decision had consciously been made.

*

“The Rangari have been watching the Shadowmoon clan very closely,” Velen told Ashen quietly. “I will have them verify it, but it seems Ner’zhul has not returned to his clan. Not yet.”

Ashen met the ancient draenei’s gaze as she clasped her hands behind her back, absently assuming an ‘at ease’ posture. “I would imagine the Warchief has him trying to find a way to reopen the portal. I doubt he’ll succeed without access to the Shadow Council, but perhaps his attempts will buy us enough time to prepare.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment, broken only by the laughter and thumping of clapping hands and stomping feet from the dancing. Velen glanced at her sidelong, bushy brows twitching upward. “Perhaps your wizard can offer insight,” the priest suggested, making a subtle gesture to their right.

Ashen turned her head to have her gaze collide with Khadgar’s as he strode across the clearing toward her. She glanced back at Velen, and flicked a brow upward curiously. “ _My_ wizard?” she echoed. “He’s technically my superior,” she pointed out, uncertain of the Prophet’s meaning.

The Prophet gave her an enigmatic smile, before nodding to Khadgar politely as the mage reached them. “We will speak more in the days to come, Commander. For now, I must bid you both a pleasant evening.”

“Prophet,” Khadgar acknowledged with a slight nod. Ashen could see puzzlement lurking behind the archmage’s affable default expression as Velen took his leave. After waiting a moment for the priest to move out of earshot, Khadgar looked back at her. The corner of his mouth curled upward. “You know, if he wasn’t capable of breaking me in half with the Light, I’d be tempted to say I scared him off.”

The death knight could feel the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a slight smile as she studied Khadgar. With the bonfire at his back, he was haloed in warm gold with his features in shadow. A stubborn lock of silver hair hung over his left eye as he regarded her with a luminous blue gaze. At some point after she’d spoken to him that afternoon Khadgar had shed the collared, heavy scale mantle, leather half-cuirass, and outer robe that comprised the bulk of his armor. Oddly enough, the absence of his armor did nothing to diminish the breadth of his shoulders—the opposite was probably true. His shoulders strained the seams of his fitted long-sleeved shirt—though she supposed it was technically the padding for his armor. Ashen had suspected he was in fighting trim—powerful mages like Khadgar often had nightmarishly high metabolisms providing the energy necessary to physically contain their magic. Looking at his broad shouldered, narrow-hipped, long-legged form, she thought it was ridiculous.

It was ridiculous to find him distractingly attractive. That sort of thing was the province of the living, and she had no business noticing. The burgeoning friendship with Khadgar was more than she had a right to expect, in all honesty.

“The Prophet is like every other wielder of the Light I’ve ever met, in that I don’t think anything truly scares him,” Ashen answered wryly, shoving the unwanted observations away.

Khadgar grinned at her, eyes filled with laughter. “A common failing of their discipline, I think,” he rumbled. “A little bit of fear can be good for your health. Speaking of healthy things, your little morale booster this evening was brilliantly done.” The grin became toothier and edged with mischief. “I quite liked your speech.”

Ashen laughed. “I think we both know that the only reason no one threw anything is because I’m letting them at that Light-forsaken death swill Hansel found.”

Khadgar smirked down at her in silence for a moment. The sounds of the revelry seemed distant, somehow, as he pinned her with a searching look. His smirk faded into a more serious expression as he extended a hand to her, palm up. “Dance with me,” he said suddenly, luminous eyes holding hers intently.

Ashen went still, eyes widening as her gaze flicked down to his hand and back up to his face. Khadgar’s expression remained oddly serious, and the hand didn’t move. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. 

Khadgar’s mouth flattened into a line briefly as he studied her, still holding his hand out. “Unless you don’t want to,” he said slowly, eyes sharp and far too knowing.

She _did_ want to—that was the problem. 

“Commander,” Khadgar sighed in exasperation, “I don’t think there’s a soldier here that wouldn’t march straight into the void if you gave the order. You gave them this moment—it’s not going to lessen you in their eyes if you participate.”

Ashen looked away from the mage’s piercing stare and studied the dancing around the bonfire while she searched for a response. “It would be…inappropriate, Archmage.”

“Inappropriate,” Khadgar repeated. Her gaze snapped back to him in surprise at the barely suppressed laughter in his voice. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s stopped you _ever_.” When she sighed, his expression turned serious, and he stepped closer, making a beckoning gesture with the still-extended hand. “I know what this is.”

Ashen’s brows lifted questioningly.

“You think this old man can’t party,” Khadgar told her, voice low. His eyes glittered with a mixture of challenge and mirth, and he leaned closer, dropping his rich voice to a mock whisper. “But I _can_. As a matter of fact, I _am_ the party.” Khadgar waggled his brows at her, smirking.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Ashen thought as she felt her chin lift and eyes narrow in response to the ‘I dare you’ gleam in Khadgar’s eyes. She’d never been able to back down from a challenge, and it had caused her no end of trouble—in life and undeath. The death knight felt rather vindicated by the way Khadgar’s expression morphed into one of surprise when she smacked her hand into his. 

Khadgar blinked at her, gently closing his fingers around hers before tugging her along as he took a slow step backward toward the dancing. Ashen suspected that the grin that lit Khadgar’s face would stay lodged in her memory for a long time. His hand was warm around hers, grasp somehow gentle and firmly insistent as they moved across the clearing together. To Ashen’s growing amusement, Khadgar held her with his flickering gaze as if he believed she’d bolt otherwise.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, to be fair. Ashen knew in her bones it was a terrible idea to give in.

The current dance ended in a wave of raucous catcalls and applause as Ashen allowed Khadgar to lead her into the circle around the bonfire. The grinning soldiers around them offered greetings, but no commentary on the presence of either commander or archmage, to Ashen’s surprise. There were several moments of shuffling as some left the group and others took their places.

As the first notes of another song started, joined by a clear tenor singing the words, Ashen’s eyes met Khadgar’s as he used his grip on her hand to draw her closer. He guided her hand to his shoulder before releasing it and settling his hand at the curve of her waist. Faintly glowing blue eyes flicked away from hers for a moment as he took her other hand. 

The beat of hands clapping time to the music swelled around them as Khadgar met her gaze and gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ll try not to break your feet,” he offered before sweeping her into motion with the rest of the dancers. 

Ashen lifted a brow at Khadgar, and his grin widened. Smiling, laughing faces and firelight swirled by in her peripheral vision as the mage led her through the skipping, stomping steps. She couldn’t help grinning back at him as soldiers around them started singing along with the song about a band of friends talking about their loves, only to realize they’d all been courting the same girl. Ashen was keenly aware of the heat of Khadgar’s hands, the firmly muscled shoulder under her fingers, and the glint of mischief and something else she couldn’t identify in his shining eyes. Her braid thumped against her spine with every skipping step, and she could feel tendrils of her hair escaping its confines. 

Khadgar propelled her into a spin around him with a push of the hand at her waist, twirling her before pulling her back by her hand. She laughed as he caught her with a grin, and they swept around the bonfire in another lap before he spun her again, and released her as the dancers around them broke apart. His grinning face vanished from view as the men and women wove in and out around the fire, grasping wrists as they passed each other. Suddenly she was face to face with Khadgar once more, who waggled his brows at her and swept her into his arms as the dance started to circle in the opposite direction. 

For the first time in Ashen’s unliving memory she was breathless with laughter.

*

Khadgar was rapidly developing a deeper appreciation of how dangerous Ashen was. He had already realized that he had a weakness for that dimpled smile of hers, but Ashen’s unrestrained laughter was another matter entirely. The joy it contained—along with the knowledge he’d caused it—warmed him. It was the kind of laugh that made doing something foolish just to hear it again seem like an excellent idea. He could feel himself grinning down at her like an idiot.

He tugged Ashen a bit closer as the steps sped up with the crescendo of the song, feeling a flicker of heat as her hand tightened on his shoulder. She looked like moonlight given form, gilded with warmth and glowing with the levity of the moment. The tapered tracks from the corners of her eyes to her jaw bent outward slightly at the narrow ends with the force of her dimpled grin. 

Khadgar wasn’t certain how it had happened, but he was pleased to have the most beautiful woman on Draenor in his arms. He kept hold of her hand, spinning her a last time with a gentle push from the other hand at her waist. Tugging her back, Khadgar let go of her hand and caught her around the waist as the dance swirled to a halt, leaving her pressed lightly against him. Ashen blinked up at him, fingers curling into his shirt, before favoring him with a lopsided smile. He smirked down at her.

“It would seem I managed to avoid breaking your feet,” Khadgar told her smugly.

Ashen laughed as another round of cheering and clapping passed through the crowd. Khadgar reluctantly released her, and she let go of his shirt and moved back slightly. The mage slowly curled his fingers into his palms, still able to feel the warmth of her lithe form under his hands.

As Khadgar held her glowing gaze, searching for something to say, a shout went up from beyond the circle around the bonfire. “Scoundrel’s dance! Ladies, choose yer fellas!”

Khadgar’s brows rose, and he peered in the direction the instructions had come from as whoops started going up from those assembled. Now was probably a good time to make a strategic withdrawal in the direction of the food. The last time he’d seen a scoundrel’s dance had been as a teenager—he’d snuck out of Dalaran with some other apprentices and joined one of the harvest festivals in a nearby village. He’d been fifteen or sixteen…old enough to be very interested in pretty girls and young enough to have the blend of daring and awkwardness unique to adolescents. That particular evening had ended with a mad scramble to escape a rather perturbed suitor of the girl he’d danced with who’d been set on beating his face in.

Scoundrels’ dances were considered fairly tame if there was only one fist fight over losing a partner. As per the shouted instructions, the dance began after each woman participating had chosen a starting partner. Unlike the other dances, when the dancers separated into rings, partner-less men had the opportunity to displace their competitors. The displacement was often…forcible, which in turn led to retaliation that was even more forcible.

Khadgar was about to eat his earlier words to Ashen, because even he had to admit that it would be _very_ inappropriate for either of them to wind up named in reports involving drunken dancing induced slugfests between soldiers under their combined command.

He turned back to Ashen, intending to suggest they get something to eat. She was watching him with a growing smirk that could only mean trouble. Flustered, he rubbed the back of his neck as he eyed her. “We should probably—” he began, attempting to take a step past her.

Ashen smoothly moved into his path, stopping him with a hand splayed against his chest. Khadgar blinked down at her, certain she could feel his heart pounding against her palm. “Ah, ah,” she admonished, waving the raised index finger of her free hand.

“Commander,” Khadgar protested, hands coming up to grip her upper arms gently. “This is—”

“The moment where you put your money where your convictions are,” Ashen told him, glowing eyes glittering with amusement at his expense. “Dance with me,” she added, grinning up at him evilly.

“I don’t suppose it would help to point out this would be inappropriate?” Khadgar asked, entertained in spite of himself.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that’s stopped you _ever_ ,” Ashen retorted.

Khadgar gave her a teasingly beleaguered sigh and skimmed his hand lightly down her arm to wrap his fingers around the hand she was pressing to his chest. “I opened the door for that one, didn’t I?” He asked her with a wry grin.

Ashen gave him a hum of agreement as he gripped her waist with his other hand and pulled her back into the circle. Despite knowing it was a terrible idea, Khadgar couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction he felt as Ashen’s hand moved to his shoulder. All around the fire, other pairs took their places, and Khadgar flashed Ashen a grin before tugging her into motion as music filled the air. 

This dance was faster, the turns sharper, and Khadgar shifted his hand from Ashen’s waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Through the dizzying whirl of the dance’s first phase, Khadgar couldn’t take his eyes from Ashen as she smiled up at him. He nearly missed the cue to release her, letting go a split second late with a huff of irritation.

Khadgar already hated the ‘scoundrel’ part of the dance, and he’d only taken two steps. He didn’t even see the man who decided to displace him until he got jarred roughly from the ring as he passed to the outside. Stumbling back a couple of steps and quickly regaining his balance, Khadgar spotted Ashen just as she passed from view behind the bonfire. A flicker of something that might have been dismay passed over her face as they locked eyes before she vanished.

Blue eyes narrowed, Khadgar found the soldier who’d ousted him and tracked his progress through the first rotation around the fire. The scoundrel’s dance made two revolutions before resuming the partnered phase, so if he timed it carefully, and acted just before the end of the second one…

It was likely something Khadgar wouldn’t have even considered, had he been entirely sober. Leaving a knot of magic where he was standing, he silently shaped a spell as he counted the steps down. When his quarry was two steps away from reaching for Ashen, Khadgar tagged him with a bit of magic that activated the spell he’d readied, and simultaneously teleported himself back into the circle using the death knight as an anchor. 

Ashen gaped at him as he pulled her into his arms. A yelp went up from the other side of the circle as the soldier he’d magically transported out landed unceremoniously on his arse. “ _Khadgar,”_ she exclaimed in what he found to be a highly satisfying mixture of mirth and exasperation.

“You missed me,” he told her with a grin as he swept them both into motion once more, quirking his brows at her. Ashen’s response was a smile that slowly curved her mouth upward. That smile made Khadgar’s foolish, somewhat inebriated heart skip a beat.

Those watching the dancing were the first to realize what had happened, and a wave of hilarity and applause swelled outside the circle. Regaining his feet, the soldier Khadgar had teleported cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted good-naturedly at him. “Well played, Archmage! You’re a dirty cheat, old man!”

“Better luck next time, boyo,” Khadgar shouted back to another surge of hoots and cheers. 

The only response he really noticed was Ashen’s. She shook her head at him, laughing, as they spun through the frenetic last turns around the fire. It amounted to a dancing version of a victory lap for those who’d stolen or managed to keep their partners. Khadgar shifted both hands to Ashen’s waist, pulling her more tightly to him as the hand she’d had on his shoulder slid to the back of his neck. He could feel her heart pounding along with his as they finally whirled to a stomping halt.

For a long moment, they stayed pressed together, glowing gazes locked. Cheers and shouted recriminations filled the air around them as they regarded each other. “That was reckless of you, Archmage,” Ashen told him finally.

Khadgar let his hands fall away from her waist as she pulled her hand from behind his neck. “I regret nothing,” he answered, voice slightly hoarse. 

Ashen slanted a puzzled glance up at him.

“And now the moment of truth, gents!” The original instigator of the scoundrel’s dance hollered. “Will she deck you when you kiss her?” 

Khadgar’s mind went blank for a moment before scrambling into a stream of profanity filled thoughts. _I can’t believe I forgot about this part._ Ashen was far more likely to produce a blade and stick him with it than punch him, in his estimation. That realization was followed by the distracted musings about where she might be keeping one as his appreciative gaze swept her figure. Khadgar was beginning to realize he’d probably overdone it on what Ashen had called ‘Light-forsaken death swill’, but he wasn’t anywhere close to soused enough to believe planting one on her in front of her command was a smart move.

Desperation, as it turned out, was its own kind of magic; a sudden burst of inspiration came to his rescue. As one unfortunate near him was indeed slugged in the jaw for his forwardness, Khadgar took Ashen’s hand and gave her a toothy grin. Bowing over her hand with a flourish worthy of Stormwind’s royal court, he met her gaze as he brushed a kiss against her knuckles. 

The corners of her mouth twitched, until he waggled his brows at her, prompting a sputtering, helpless laugh. As much as Khadgar hated anything remotely political, he was absurdly grateful court etiquette had finally proven useful. There really was a first time for everything.

Khadgar straightened, only to freeze in embarrassment as his stomach let out a roar that rivaled the giant cats the night elves were so fond of. “I’m starving,” he informed Ashen unnecessarily. “And possibly a bit drunk.”

Ashen tried—and promptly failed—not to snicker at him. “Food will help both those things,” she told him as she used their joined hands to tug him toward the row of tables before letting her hand fall. Khadgar fell into step beside her, mouth turned up at one corner.

Neither of them noticed the Warden watching from the shadows.


	9. Frostwalled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned I don't actually hate Cordana? I don't actually hate Cordana. Coming up in the next chapter, Khadgar is absent-minded, Ashen overreacts, and a trolling contest ensues.

**Wor’gol, home of the Frostwolf Orcs, one week later**

Khadgar folded his arms across his chest absently as his gaze flicked between Farseer Drek’Thar’s face and the hand the orc was slowly moving over the spread of diagrams on the small table. Before leaving Lunarfall to rendezvous with the Horde, the mage had prevailed upon Ashen to chart what she’d seen of the spells surrounding the Dark Portal, and now the blind shaman was feeling his way through the charted magic with his connection to the elements. There was a visible distortion around Drek’Thar’s hand, almost as if the air were bending, waving like water and refracting like glass. 

The table bearing the drawings and the stretched-hide stools pulled up to it occupied the place of honor in Drek’Thar’s surprisingly spacious, tent-like hut. Heavy wood formed the frame for the hides that comprised the dwelling’s rounded walls, leaving Khadgar with the impression he was standing inside either the belly of some beast or a drum. With the howling gusts occasionally snapping the skins against the frame to make the hut thrum softly, the comparison to the drum was winning. 

Drek’Thar’s low, thoughtful rumble pulled Khadgar from his perusal of the shaman’s living space. “I don’t recognize many of these symbols, but the intent seems clear enough,” the orc told him. “Our magic comes from direct communion with the elemental spirits of Draenor, as well as our ancestors. We don’t have a tradition of written magical notation…usually. The Shadowmoon clan has always been the exception; they chart the heavens and draw on astral powers beyond the elemental heart of the world.” The blind-folded, tusked face turned toward Khadgar as the shaman sighed. “Now, Ner’zhul has led them even farther…perverting our traditions and betraying everything held sacred by our race.”

“So there _is_ an elemental aspect to these spells?” Khadgar asked curiously.

Farseer Drek’Thar made a sound of assent, turning his sightless gaze back down to the charts. Khadgar felt a humming pressure in the air as the shaman reached for the elements again, moving his hand slowly until he found the drawings of the stones that had bound the lesser members of the Shadow Council. “These are binding spells, much as you suspected,” Drek’Thar explained. “Through the elements, the clan ancestors were invoked to provide the will to bind these…individuals. The siphoning aspect of the binding feels twisted, or perhaps diseased,” he muttered slowly, considering. The shaman’s large hand moved again, finding the series of diagrams that illustrated the spells powering the portal and bindings Ashen had seen around Gul’dan. “Here, though, is where the heart of the betrayal lies. Ner’zhul used the elements and connections to the ancestors of our people to harness this death magic that powered the portal.”

Khadgar’s brow furrowed as he studied the drawing, then the shaman’s grim countenance. “I’m not sure I completely understand,” he said slowly.

“You act with honor and speak our tongue well enough that I forget your otherness,” Drek’Thar told Khadgar. “Our race is comprised of disparate clans, as you know. However, all the clans share a deep reverence for the elements…for Draenor itself. Those who wish to commune with the elements and become shaman journey to the Throne of Elements in Nagrand. The pilgrimage is dangerous…the trial before the spirits even more so. Those that fail often die, or are driven mad. The faces of the survivors are marked before they are cast out, that all who see them may know they are unworthy. You saw this marking on Ner’zhul’s face.”

“The white skull tattoo,” Khadgar confirmed. “I thought he was a respected shaman as well as a clan chieftain before all of this.”

“Yes,” Drek’Thar rumbled. “According to the whispers I heard while captive, he marked himself.” The orc rolled his shoulders back, straightening briefly, before settling into a more relaxed posture. The motion gave Khadgar the distinct impression Drek’Thar found the discussion physically painful. “Ner’zhul made the pilgrimage, and the elements found him worthy. When he ascended to lead his clan, he was found worthy again—for the elements sometimes strike down the chieftains who are not fit to lead our people. As both shaman and clan chieftain, he was meant to walk an honorable path, maintaining a balance to echo that of the elements themselves—whether between war and peace, life and death, honored ancestors or possible descendants. Instead, he bound the ancestral spirits to a rite fueled in part by the deaths of our people.”

Drek’Thar paused, face contorting in disgust. “To an extent I can understand the desire driving the conquest of this Iron Horde. We are a race of warriors, regardless of which clan we call home. Yet the soul of our people is tied to the elements, to the nature of our world. It’s this perversion of our bond to the world I don’t understand,” the shaman explained with a slashing gesture toward the table, “and this is the greatest of Ner’zhul’s betrayals.”

“So far,” Khadgar amended, thinking of the elderly shaman who’d shattered the world he’d been stranded on for the better part of two decades. Drek’Thar’s heavy brows lifted curiously, so Khadgar elaborated. “In my timeline, Ner’zhul destroyed your world. A few fragments survived, left to drift through the Twisting Nether…but most of the world was lost.”

The emotion moving over the other man’s face was plain, despite his covered eyes. Drek’Thar made a low sound that was a combination of rage and grief. “The more I hear of what befell us in your past, the less I like it,” the shaman snarled grimly. “Had I not already planned to aid you, that would have convinced me. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be—the sort of magic you practice is alien to me.”

“It would seem there is some overlap, if you were able to discern the meaning of the diagrams with the aid of the spirits,” Khadgar said thoughtfully, unfolding his arms and stepping closer to the table, eyeing the drawings. 

“True enough.” Drek’Thar paused for a moment. “Though it would have been easier to examine these charts of yours if I could hear more than whispers. The spirits have been distant since my time as a captive of the warlocks.” 

Khadgar looked up from the drawings and studied the orc, noting the carefully even tone of the admission. “I don’t sense any corruption around you or on you,” the archmage told him after a moment. “The block will most likely pass in time.”

Drek’Thar inclined his head in slow nod of gratitude. “If they still find me worthy,” the shaman said quietly. He tapped one of his tusks with a forefinger, thinking. “Once the immediate danger to my clan has passed, I will undertake the pilgrimage to Nagrand and submit to the judgement of the spirits. If you truly wish to understand Draenor, you should accompany me, Archmage.”

Khadgar’s brows lifted toward his hairline in surprise. “I would be honored,” he answered honestly. “But would that impede you? Having the company of an outsider on a sacred rite?”

Drek’Thar smiled. “No, it wouldn’t. You may walk the trails at my side, but the trial will still be mine alone. The young shaman, Thrall, should make the journey with us,” he continued. “You will only be able to observe…unless the spirits decide to speak to you.”

“In that case, I look forward to it.” Khadgar told Drek’Thar with a pleased grin, which the shaman returned briefly.

“The remnants of the ogres’ empire can also be found in Nagrand. Their reach is no longer what it was, but they are still dangerous—and they practice a magic similar to yours. Perhaps the journey will aid you in more ways than one.”

Before Khadgar could pursue that bit of information, the tie holding the hide in place over the hut’s entrance loosened. Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolves, knocked the heavy hide aside and ducked into the hut. His silvery-white wolf mantle was dusted with a fine coating of snow, but the deepest cold radiated from his eyes and grim expression. The orc’s gaze moved from Drek’Thar to Khadgar, and he scowled.

“As grateful as I was that you found my errant brother, I’m starting to wish you’d left him in Tanaan,” Durotan said heavily as he strode to the table and swept a dismissive glance over the charts. His next comment was directed to Drek’Thar. “Ga’nar took a raiding party north, to assault the ogres at Bladespire…despite the fact our preparations are unfinished and a howler is looming.”

The shaman sighed, and Khadgar’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Howler?”

“The worst sort of blizzard,” Drek’Thar clarified. 

Durotan nodded agreement. “The sort of blizzard that only a hot-headed fool with no care for the lives of his clan goes charging into,” he growled. “Farseer, we will test our new allies. Go, and tell the Horde of our need.”

Drek’Thar inclined his head in assent, and Khadgar spoke. “I can transport us to the camp at Frostwall, if you wish.”

Durotan shifted to face Khadgar, eyes moving intently over the human’s face as his heavy brows drew together. “You’d aid us against an enemy our peoples don’t share?”

“Yes,” Khadgar said simply, studying Durotan curiously. 

A long moment of silence passed, in which the human and orc eyed each other with varying degrees of wariness and curiosity. Durotan finally gave Khadgar a brief nod. “Time is short, and I welcome your aid on behalf of my clan. Bring the Horde Commander and his pack back here,” the Frostwolf chieftain continued as he turned his gaze to Drek’Thar. The shaman nodded.

Khadgar quickly swept the charts into a stack and folded them as Durotan strode out of the hut. The mage tucked the drawings into his belt pouch as a blast of cold air marked the orc’s swift exit. Drek’Thar chuckled, and Khadgar glanced over at him curiously. “It would seem your studies of the ogres will begin sooner than anticipated,” the shaman told him in amusement.

With a rueful grin of agreement, Khadgar reached for Atiesh. “It’s good to keep busy,” he told Drek’Thar cheerfully before wrapping his magic around them and teleporting them to the Horde camp in a flash of white light.

*

There was something to be said for Ashen’s blades-first approach to problems, Khadgar decided. The mage hurled a bright helix of blue and violet arcane magic at a cluster of ogres pinning a motley group of Horde and Frostwolf warriors, who promptly pressed forward after the splitting magic found its targets. Left hand wrapped around Atiesh, Khadgar lifted his right and blinked away from where he’d been standing, following a thread of magic he’d dropped earlier. The vortex of blue-white and violet magic around him faded as he stopped at the other side of the courtyard, grinning in the direction of the flummoxed ogre who’d meant to club him in the back of the head. Another quick burst of the arcane took care of that in an explosive and permanent fashion.

As fond as Khadgar was of his obscure magical theory and research, it was something of a relief to wield his abilities with such immediate and satisfying results. There was more joy in masterful application of will and discipline to his spellwork than there was in the heads exploding as a result, but not by much. In his defense, it _had_ been something of trying week. 

The last teleport in the quick succession of blinks Khadgar made placed him near the Horde forces clearing the space immediately around the entrance to Bladespire Citadel’s lower level. With the Horde at his back, the mage took a moment to sweep the courtyard with his senses. Khadgar pulled the magic back slightly when he felt nothing that the combined forces of his erstwhile allies couldn’t handle on their own, though he kept a sharp gaze on the fighting. Going into battle without someone at his back wasn’t new, and staying alive in a melee was simple enough in theory—cast, move, and pay attention. If anything got close enough to stab him before he killed it, then he was doing something wrong.

Cordana would no doubt berate him later for what she perceived as recklessness. When she found out, and when she decided she was speaking to him again, anyway.

Khadgar had turned Ashen’s tactfully chiding words over in the back of his mind after she’d pointed out that part of the difficulty he’d had with the Warden was his fault. It was true; he was used to having the independence to act as he saw fit to do whatever was necessary at the time. With that in mind, he had spoken to Cordana, leading with an apology and trying to find a middle ground where she did her duty and he didn’t feel shackled. He’d thought it had worked; Cordana had warmed considerably and their interactions had been less contentious. 

Then they’d arrived with the Horde on the shores of Frostfire…and the Warden had refused to leave the boat.

“I will be here,” she’d told him, while he tried not to gape at her in disbelief. 

“Here? On the boat they’re going to scuttle?” Khadgar had asked in exasperation.

Cordana had deigned to step off the ship, somehow giving him a withering look despite being hidden behind a full helm. “I will camp nearby. Find me when you are ready to depart.”

With that, she had stealthed, and Khadgar hadn’t clapped eyes on her since. That had been three days ago. He hadn’t even seen her when he took Drek’Thar back to Frostwall to secure the aid of the Horde for the Frostwolves. He was on his own, apparently, in a setting where he wouldn’t have minded having someone at his back. After some careful backtracking, the only trigger Khadgar could come up with for the sharp reversal was the moment Cordana had asked what prompted the apology. His attention had been mostly on his work, and he’d answered with absent-minded honesty that the Commander had suggested the conversation. Khadgar clearly remembered that he started getting the cold shoulder and somewhat aggressive disapproval after that, though he wasn’t clear on _why._

“Khadgar! See if you can do something about these doors—without blowing them up,” a voice called from behind his left shoulder. Khadgar scowled and turned to face Len’thalar, watching as the blood elf nocked an arrow and drew the string on his enormous long bow. Lining up the shot and taking a breath, the newly appointed Horde Commander let the arrow fly as he exhaled, taking one of the ogre defenders in the throat with enough force to pin the corpse to the stone wall of the citadel. It was an impressive shot, especially considering the elf was working around intermittent gusts as the sky darkened with threatening clouds. “We’ll cover you. Defensive perimeter around the door!” Len’thalar shouted at his soldiers.

As the small group comprised of orcs, trolls, and tauren took positions in an arc facing the courtyard, Khadgar strode closer to the huge doors leading into the citadel itself. Len’thalar followed, taking a position at Khadgar’s back, behind the defensive line. Khadgar directed his grumbling at the elven ranger as he set to work. “I’m an Archmage on the Kirin Tor Council of Six,” he told the other man acerbically. “I think I can handle opening a door without turning it into kindling.”

“Human mages, always so sensitive,” Len’thalar tossed back. He added more seriously, “We’ll be in trouble later if we can’t close these doors. I don’t like the look of the sky.”

Khadgar made a rumble of agreement, turning his focus inward with his magical senses firmly fixed on the doors. Bladespire Citadel shared the spiky, enormous ugliness the mage had noted on the ships the Azerothian forces had stolen from the Iron Horde. The double doors were wooden, very tall, and reinforced with bands of metal…then barred on the inside, with the bar sheathed in metal and further secured with chains and a heavy lock. Khadgar lifted a brow, wondering what the ogres had wanted to keep out, as he deftly wove his power into a spell that would deal with the impediment. Tendrils of magic slipped between planks in the doors, wrapping the bar, chains, and lock, and the mage released the spell he’d crafted. As an apprentice, Khadgar had been something of a snoop; magic was an excellent tool for getting into places one wasn’t supposed to. 

In his mind’s eye, he saw the lock release and clang to the floor. The spell reeled the chains away and lifted the bar. Thinking it would be a shame to let such an opportunity go to waste, the mage heated the metal sheathing the bar and launched it into a group of ogres he could sense milling around nearby. The shouts of confusion and pain carried clearly through the heavy doors. These were followed by more yells tinged with panic as Khadgar coated the chains in ice, wrapped them in arcane threads, and sent them slithering into the fray like they were snakes. The crashing noises coming out of the citadel were quite satisfying, Khadgar thought.

“Archmage?” 

“It’s open.”

Len’thalar eyed him dubiously as he moved past and gave one of the doors a push. The door groaned as it swung inward, and the elf blinked at the chaos running rampant in the cavernous inner bailey. Khadgar chuckled as an ogre ran past, meaty hands in the air, chased by a chain that clinked as it moved over the stone flooring. Further into the room, the improvised missile still had a molten glow where it stuck up from a pile of ogres. Not far from the fallen heap, there was an ogre that was standing on its toes on a stack of crates, a chair hefted overhead in one hand, alarmed gaze skittering over the floor. The ranger cut his green eyes over at Khadgar, and lifted a long brow. 

“Nobody likes snakes,” Khadgar observed. He scratched at his stubbled jaw for a moment. “I wonder where the other one went.”

The space immediately past the entrance must have been a ring with rooms branching off at intervals, because the first ogre ran past again, still pursued by a chain and still panicking. The second ogre bellowed and smashed the chair down at the chain as it passed, shattering the makeshift weapon and falling off the stack of crates—setting off another giant crash as the crates toppled. The ogre running from the chain made it a few more steps before letting out a high-pitched wail and trying to skid to a halt. Another chain shot across the ogre’s path and charged toward him. The pursuing chain-snake wrapped about the ogre’s ankles, and as he tripped and fell, the second sprang for his throat. Khadgar saw Len’thalar wince at the wet snapping sound of bone and cartilage as the chain constricted. 

The ranger finally shook his head. “They don’t even _look_ like snakes, though,” Len’thalar mused. 

Khadgar glanced over at him and lifted a brow. “You’re also not an ogre. The ones that don’t wield magic aren’t all that bright.”

Len’thalar motioned to someone behind Khadgar, and the mage turned to look back toward the courtyard as shouts went up, calling soldiers to their position. “If you could, ah…” the ranger trailed off, glancing back at Khadgar and making a gesture toward the chains disentangling from the ogre’s corpse. With another lift of a brow and a poorly hidden smirk, Khadgar waved a hand, dissolving the magic around the chains. 

“Start clearing the main floor,” Len’thalar told a tall, blue-skinned troll shaman, who saluted him. “Once your squad has the area secure send a runner to update me, Thrall, or Durotan—”

Khadgar had only been listening with half an ear as he swept the courtyard with his sharp blue gaze. A few of the Frostwolves were moving through the courtyard, checking the ogres and slitting throats where necessary. Thrall and Durotan had set another group of Frostwolves and Horde soldiers to pulling their wounded to one of the citadel walls where they could be healed. Len’thalar was still issuing orders when a wave of shouts snapped Khadgar’s attention to the far side of the courtyard—just in time to see a large, fiery boulder rolling down the ramp wrapping the side of the citadel. 

“Scatter! Clear the courtyard!” Khadgar bellowed as he blinked forward to get a better vantage. The soldiers who heard him started scrambling, desperately trying to get out of the boulder’s path. The mage thrust his hands forward, unleashing a torrent of arcane missiles, then quickly projected a dome of arcane magic as the boulder exploded in hot, sharp shards. He managed to deflect the worst of it, but heard cries here and there where soldiers got struck by fragments. 

The boulder Khadgar blasted into pieces was only the first. Dropping the arcane barrier, Khadgar cast a shield around himself then blinked forward until he was past the soldiers and near the foot of the ramp. Planting Atiesh in the snow to his left, he lifted both hands and drew sharply on his magic before unleashing a burst of spiraling arcane blasts. Each found a boulder, setting off a rather impressive series of detonations. The archmage could hear the pounding of feet as a group of soldiers caught up to him.

“Go, we’re right behind you!” Len’thalar called to Khadgar.

Snatching Atiesh from the snow, Khadgar took a couple of running steps before lifting a hand and transforming into a raven. His momentum coupled with powerful downstrokes of dark blue wings shot him into the air as he followed the ramp. Khadgar flew higher, keeping an eye on the ramp and hoping to gain the top before another wave of boulders rolled toward his allies. There was a group of four ogre spell casters in a ring not far from the beginning of the ramp, hands moving and lumps of earth rotating in the air before them. Tucking his wings, Khadgar dove straight at them. 

The landing was less than graceful. Khadgar reverted to his natural form and his boots hit the snow-covered stone in a skid. He hit the closest ogre with a counterspell, making it stagger backward, then followed with a cone of cold that knocked the remaining three back a few steps and halted the chanting. Khadgar’s boots slid out from under him, dumping him in the snow with an ‘oof’. 

_I just had to make up for not breaking Ashen’s feet by breaking my own arse in the snow,_ Khadgar groused to himself as he blinked to the side, away from the ogres, before trying to regain his feet. He’d just finished grumpily swatting snow from his rear when Len’thalar and his small force of Horde and Frostwolves gained the top of the tower and charged into the ogres.

*

The first fat flakes of snow had started to fall by the time the top of Bladespire Citadel had been cleared. Squinting against the rising wind that raked at his hair and robes with sharp, cold fingers, Khadgar had teleported the group back to the courtyard. Len’thalar’s lieutenant and his crew had succeeded in clearing the first floor of the citadel, and part of the group pressed on as the rest of them pushed the massive doors closed against the weather and settled in. 

A couple of hours later, the citadel belonged to the Frostwolves, and the blizzard—or howler, as Durotan had called it—was raging in earnest. Khadgar had figured the name was self-explanatory, but the volume of the howling produced by the storm as it raged around the citadel was eerily impressive. It ranged from a low, mournful keening to a high-pitched shriek that he could hear clearly, despite his location in a small room toward the center of the main floor. 

Khadgar had claimed the small room when it had become clear his services weren’t required for the moment, intending to use the time to continue working on possible solutions to Draenic magical conundrums. At least he had a working theory of why the issues existed in the first place, thanks to a well-timed question and a bit of wry teasing from a woman who remained infuriatingly distracting despite being on the other side of the continent. Khadgar had been honest with her—he really did have a complex about paradoxes, and it had contributed to what now seemed a glaring oversight on his part. 

The archmage had cleared the room’s long table and started a fire in the hearth when someone knocked at the heavy wood framing the doorway. “It’s open,” Khadgar called drily, as there was no door. 

“Archmage,” Commander Len’thalar greeted as he walked in. The blood elf hefted a skin of what Khadgar assumed was wine, along with a basket with some bread and cheese. “Thought these might be welcome.”

“Indeed. Thank you,” Khadgar answered, studying the elf briefly and motioning to the table. At some point in the fighting, Len’thalar had received some minor injuries. There was a notch missing from his right ear that lined up with a gash across his cheekbone. The gash had been neatly stitched, but would likely scar. The ranger seemed unbothered by the injury or the alteration to his appearance as he set his offerings where Khadgar had pointed.

“And Drek’Thar sent you these,” the ranger continued, pulling a small sack from his belt and passing it to Khadgar. “He asked the Frostwolves to collect these from the citadel before the assault began, apparently. Something about helping with your studies?”

Brows lifting curiously, Khadgar loosened the ties cinching the bag closed and emptied the contents onto the table. Several stone fragments of various sizes tumbled free, glinting with a faint pearlescence in the firelight. Turning one of the larger chunks over, Khadgar discovered that it was carved with unfamiliar runes. All of the pieces had marks, he found. Viewing them through the lens of his magic revealed echoes of power clinging to some of the pieces. 

Khadgar’s delighted fascination must have shown on his face, because Len’thalar chuckled. “A good gift, then?”

“A very good gift,” Khadgar agreed amiably. “Supposedly the Gorian empire had a teleportation network or series of waygates they used to traverse Draenor. I’ll have to study these, but I suspect they’re waystones from one of the portals.” He looked up from the fragments. “Please give the Farseer my thanks, should you see him before I do.”

Len’thalar nodded, and Khadgar turned his attention back to the fragments, planning to sort them by the strength of the lingering magic on each one. It took him a moment to realize the other man hadn’t left, and he glanced up with raised brows. The elf shifted his weight, fidgeting and not quite meeting Khadgar’s gaze. “Something troubling you, Commander?”

“A couple of things, actually,” Len’thalar admitted finally. “I wonder…if you would be so kind as to relay my apology to Lady Sy—er, to Commander Ashen. About the scouting report in Tanaan,” he clarified at Khadgar’s perplexed expression. 

“Oh, that,” Khadgar said in amusement, while simultaneously wondering at the elf’s slip of the tongue. “She blamed me for that, actually. Something about ‘you blew up the sodding dam, you nitwit, of course the patrols increased.’” 

The ranger grinned. “She called you a nitwit?”

“It was heavily implied, at least. It was also followed by a lecture on the perishable nature of actionable battlefield intelligence.”

Len’thalar laughed. “I’m relieved she realizes I wasn’t trying to get her killed,” he said after a moment as his amusement faded. “As for the other thing…” The elf sighed, then straightened and continued formally, “Archmage, I wish to apologize on behalf of the Sunreaver mages.”

“Ah,” Khadgar said after staring at the ranger for a moment. After the Horde had been granted the lands they’d named Frostwall, Khadgar had attempted to draw some of the surviving mages into a discussion about the interference he’d found with certain spells. The three mages were all blood elves, or Sunreavers, as Len’thalar had called them—members of the Kirin Tor until fairly recently. They had looked at him with blank expressions, and refused to utter a word. 

Running a hand over his spiky, red-gold hair, the ranger grimaced. “Please don’t take it personally. Or…too personally? I guess it is personal,” Len’thalar rambled awkwardly. “It’s just that you’re known to be a friend of Jaina Proudmoore’s.”

“And she forcibly routed them from Dalaran after the theft of the bell,” Khadgar finished for him. He hadn’t been in the city for that particular debacle.

Len’thalar nodded, face flushing with shame. “She routed _us_ from Dalaran,” he amended. “I helped them get out of the city.”

Khadgar sat down in the chair he’d pulled up to the table, gesturing for the elven commander to take a seat. “What’s done is done, Len’thalar. I’m not here to judge anyone.”

“Perhaps not, but I wished you to understand. It was a betrayal on our part, but it wasn’t done lightly,” Len’thalar told him earnestly. “Garrosh…Garrosh had our families. He had my mother and my sisters. When I received my orders to assist with the theft, they were accompanied by a box that contained my mother’s right hand. She was an artist,” he rasped, voice heavy with grief. “There are so few of us left—”

Khadgar held up a gloved hand to halt the flow of words, swallowing against a tight throat. “I understand. In your place, I would have done the same.” Len’thalar met his gaze, then offered him a solemn nod. “I’m not offended by their silence, if that’s what had you worried. I have a tendency to…uh, have a narrow field of view when I’ve got magical theory in my sights,” Khadgar offered somewhat apologetically. 

“You’re doing your part,” Len’thalar told him flatly, green eyes narrowing to slits. “They _will_ do theirs. Should you speak to them again, they will aid you, and they’ll be civil about it—or they’ll answer to me.” 

Khadgar nodded, thinking he was beginning to understand why Thrall had chosen the elf to command the Horde’s efforts. The commander had struck Khadgar as young, and there’d been moments where his inexperience had shown…but there was a streak of steely determination there that spoke of the leader he could become.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Len’thalar told him with a last nod. “We’ll likely head back to Frostwall in the morning, if the storm has passed.”

Khadgar watched the elf leave, then reached over and pulled the basket of food closer. He tore into the bread and cheese, mind already turned to the magic he sensed around the runed fragments of stone.

*

Sometime later that evening, Khadgar sat back after completing the last stroke on the diagram he’d been working on. He eyed the drawing thoughtfully as he absently cleaned his pen with a tendril of arcane magic and returned it to its case. The fragments Drek’Thar had the Frostwolves collect for him presented him with a partial picture of what a working, permanent portal looked like—when cast with magic that agreed with Draenor’s particular sensibilities. It was only a partial picture, though. 

Khadgar had mapped what he could see in the magical remnants, and done a bit of theorizing. What he needed now was another set of eyes and someone to use as a sounding board. There might come a point when he’d have to try talking to the Sunreavers again, but Khadgar didn’t plan on trying it that night. The sound of the soldiers’ voices had grown steadily more raucous over the course of the afternoon and evening, and there was often a fine line between good-natured intoxication and irrational, inebriated rage.

It would have been ideal to have access to another member of the Council of Six, all of whom were accomplished in various areas of magical theory. Modera or Jaina would have suited. Kalecgos probably would have had the most insight to offer. As his gaze drifted from his work to another drawing on the table, Khadgar had to acknowledge—at least to himself—that he might have _needed_ to talk to another mage, but it wasn’t what he really _wanted_.

He reached over and pulled the diagram closer, brushing a curled edge of the parchment with the pad of his thumb as his eyes traced the graceful, sweeping runes and spidery structure lines. For a moment, Khadgar could see Ashen with a hand braced on the table, thick braid hanging over her shoulder, as she drew the spell diagrams with a practiced hand. Some of her notation was archaic, but she had an artist’s touch. This drawing depicted what she’d seen of the Dark Portal itself; it was by far the most intricate of the ones she’d drawn, and demonstrated that among her other attributes was a prodigious memory. 

_Such a beautiful thing, to depict such ugliness,_ Khadgar mused, before setting the drawing aside with a noisy sigh. 

There wasn’t any point to pretending otherwise—he wished the death knight were sitting across from him to study his work, listen to his ramblings, and talk to him with that odd combination of wry, needling sarcasm and patient support that just seemed to just be her. Khadgar had caught himself with the corners of his mouth kicked up, randomly smiling at nothing ever since the evening of the landing in Lunarfall and the impromptu bonfire. He was a healthy, red-blooded man, and he’d immensely enjoyed dancing with Ashen—but it was the unexpected, easy camaraderie Khadgar had found in her company that was trying to settle under his skin, tugging at a corner of his mind like a distant itch he couldn’t scratch. Khadgar wanted to goad her into that wicked smile and rich laugh that had met his unfiltered, somewhat ridiculous commentary after the dancing, when they’d settled shoulder to shoulder to eat, talk, and watch the merriment.

When Khadgar had first set eyes on her, he’d thought she looked like she was carved from ice. She wasn’t; though Ashen hid it well, there was a warmth there that drew him, just as surely as the haunting, siren’s call of her magic. However, the warm, smiling woman had vanished without a trace the next morning—replaced by a lookalike with an impassive expression and polite, if chilly demeanor. Khadgar hadn’t seen so much as a ghost of smile from her before he left with Cordana Felsong in tow on the fourth morning after their landing in Lunarfall. At first, he’d assumed she was being professional; for someone who had argued against being given command, Ashen had radiated a sort of confident comfort in her own skin as she decisively laid out her plans for the coming weeks. It was absurd, but he’d had trouble keeping his gaze on the map as she’d explained her next steps. Not that he’d ever been a fan of ineptitude, but he hadn’t realized he found competence attractive to that extent.

Khadgar rubbed a hand against the side of his face, feeling stubble rasp against his palm and scowling at the realization he’d been doing it again—that ridiculous smile at nothing like he was daft. Here he sat, smiling at empty room due to thoughts of woman who hadn’t smiled at him or said anything to him beyond what was strictly necessary for a solid three days. Every attempt to pull Ashen into a few moments of small talk had been stonewalled— _No, Frostwalled_ , Khadgar thought on a sudden surge of amusement—by a polite deflection and swift departure from his company.

He hadn’t really had a chance to mull over specifics of his interactions with her over the past week, but now—especially after his renewed butting of heads with Cordana—he couldn’t help but wonder if he said something that evening that prompted Ashen’s retreat behind that glacial calm of hers. Khadgar couldn’t remember doing or saying anything utterly, irredeemably outrageous before the food had started to soak up some of the alcohol…

*

Khadgar had taken a seat next to Ashen, back against the trunk of one of the enormous dark trees with his long legs stretched out in the grass, and immediately set to work demolishing the food piled high on the first of his two trenchers. They watched the activity around the bonfire in companionable silence for a time, occasionally bumping shoulders as they reached for the mugs set in the narrow space between them. It hadn’t taken long for some of the effects of the alcohol to fade, but the filter that should have been between Khadgar’s brain and his mouth refused to return. The inhalation of food was interspersed with his observations about the dancing and a few couples they saw slipping off through the trees without taking food with them. Ashen had seemed highly entertained by his stream of consciousness.

“Thanks for humoring this old man with a dance,” Khadgar had told her as he paused to take a swig from his drink. Sudden stillness at his side prompted him to glance over at Ashen, to find her watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Ashen had snapped, not bothering to hide her annoyance. The statement was punctuated with a shake of the fried vegetable wedge she was holding. 

“Do what?” His attempt at an innocent expression had failed miserably, judging by the way Ashen’s brows lifted. 

Khadgar’s gaze had bounced back and forth between Ashen’s glowing eyes and the morsel she shook at the end of his nose again. “Don’t play the ‘poor old man’ card on me and pretend I was doing _you_ a favor. You’re a sneaky, manipulative bastard, is what you are. Does that actually work on anyone?”

He had no idea what kind of vegetables the Draenei had fried, but they were damn good, and Ashen had shaken that one at him a few too many times. Khadgar leaned over and bit it in half, then swiped the other half from her fingers with an expression that was so smug he could feel it. It was worth it to see her blink in surprise, then smother a laugh. He poked the second half in his mouth and chewed for a moment before answering.

“Apparently it works on everyone but you,” Khadgar had told her. “Which is _annoying_ , you infuriating woman.”

“Let’s have this chat about age a thousand years from now and see how it goes,” Ashen suggested drily. “Interesting that you pick that as your default ‘go away, don’t bother me’ line, Archmage.”

Khadgar had harrumphed at her. “If you’re going to keep calling me on my bullshit, you should really call me Khadgar.”

“Can’t,” Ashen had answered around a bite of bread. She swallowed and had to clear her throat, the corners of her mouth twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “It’d be inappropriate.”

“Hmph. And here I thought a better definition of ‘inappropriate’ would have been taking advantage of the opportunity to kiss you senseless after the scoundrel’s dance,” he muttered. Ashen had paused with a bit of food halfway to her mouth, and Khadgar glanced over at her to see her brows lifting steadily toward her hairline. “I…said that out loud, didn’t I?”

A week later, Khadgar still wasn’t sure if he’d been relieved or mortified when she’d started laughing. It took a minute before she could breathe again, during which Khadgar had picked up his mug and drained it with a disgruntled expression.

“How much of that have you had, exactly?” Ashen had asked, still grinning.

“Uhhmm.” The mage scrunched his face in thought, eyes flicking upward. After giving it some serious thought, he looked back at her. “A few more than a couple and a couple less than several too many?”

The death knight had eyed him for a moment before losing the battle against another wave of snickers. After a moment, she patted his knee amiably. “I’m sorry. You should have seen the look on your face.”

Khadgar couldn’t help the smirk that had tugged at his mouth. “I’m so pleased you were entertained,” he told her wryly. 

Ashen had mercy on him and changed the subject, prompting him to launch into a detailed explanation of where he was with his analysis. When he had paused several minutes later to finish the last of the food stacked on his second trencher, Ashen had looked over at him, her head leaned against the trunk of the tree. He met her gaze, taking in her firelit features, glowing eyes, and strands of silvery hair escaping her braid to caress her face.

“Why didn’t you include the location of Outland in your analysis of the new Dark Portal?”

And with that question, everything had clicked into place. “It’s not a timeline, it’s a universe,” Khadgar had breathed. He lifted his left hand and wrapped his fingers around her silvery blue braid and gave it a teasing tug. “That’s brilliant. _You’re_ brilliant,” he clarified, thwapping the end of Ashen’s nose with the tapered end of her braid. She had smacked his hand and her hair away, wrinkling her nose at the tickle. “I can fix this.”

Khadgar had given the last of his bread a careless toss further back into the trees and pushed to his feet. “I need to take some notes,” he announced. He glanced down at Ashen to see her mouth curve in a knowing smile, and he had grinned back down at her. “Goodnight, Ashen,” he said as he’d started away with a spring in his step.

“Goodnight, Archmage.”

Unable to resist, Khadgar had stopped and looked back at her. “We had an agreement that you’d use my name.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to such a thing.”

“No? I clearly remember securing that concession with the sacrifice of my dignity,” he’d told her archly, making her laugh.

“Goodnight, _Khadgar_ ,” Ashen finally said in exasperation when he continued to stare at her expectantly.

*

The coals settled in the hearth with a popping hiss and shower of sparks, drawing Khadgar back to the present. He could still hear Ashen’s voice echoing in his mind, wrapping his name in warm velvet and threads of laughter. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to ignore the wisp of heat that licked down his spine. 

_Foolish old man,_ Khadgar grumbled inwardly. The tug of attraction would fade eventually. Ashen had clearly assumed he was talking out of the bottom of a mug, which was an impression he had no intention of correcting. He couldn’t, for a number of reasons. It would probably be wise to let things settle into a somewhat stilted professional exchange.

Khadgar didn’t really want to be wise, though. Why couldn’t he have her friendship, at least? He’d be content with that much.

The mage ruthlessly squelched that voice in the back of his mind that was howling with laughter at the blatant lie.

For several long moments, Khadgar stared at his diagrams. Then he reached for the ones he wished he could show Ashen, and duplicated them with a bit of magic. He duplicated a sheet of blank paper a few times for good measure, then flipped the case with his pen and inkwell open. He dipped the nib into the ink, tapped off the excess, and started to write. 

When he was done, Khadgar bundled the copies of the diagrams with his letter to Ashen and summoned the arcane construct he’d been using as an assistant for close to twenty years. He gave the creature the missive, directing it to the beacon Ashen had insisted that he leave in the camp at Lunarfall, telling it to seek the death knight and wait for a reply.

It never occurred to him that it was nearing midnight in Frostfire—or the wee hours of the morning in Lunarfall.


	10. A Useful Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this was not the chapter I mentioned being next in my note on chapter nine. I've read notes on various works where authors mention characters having minds of their own--Ashen certainly seemed to with this chapter. I think this chapter just needed to happen. Not going to lie, though, I was hesitant to post this one. That being said, I don't think it's possible to delve into a character like a death knight and not get into some dark trauma and personal conflict. I'll probably explore Cordana as a character, too--she's kind of flat in the game. 
> 
> Updates may be sporadic for awhile. Again. On the plus side, I've got working outlines for the next two chapters.
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for reading!

Ashen’s sword made a distinctive, metallic almost-ringing sound as her stroke met her oncoming opponent’s open mouth. Her forces were under attack, but all Ashen felt—aside from the usual surge of adrenalin—was relief.

A mostly headless pale orc collapsed before her, accompanied by the soft, wet patter of gore splattering the sand of the beach near Lunarfall. Ashen’s two-handed sword was still ringing faintly as she met another of the creatures with a sweeping upward swing as it leapt for her. The blade slashed through the thing’s torso, and the death knight sidestepped the twitching body as it dropped. The blazing runes left a faintly glowing trail in the mist as Ashen whirled the blade back down into a ready stance with a whooshing sound. Shouts and grunts of effort melded with the screeching of the pale orcs as her soldiers hacked away at them.

The bones of the gutted Iron Horde warship rose to her right, wrapped by fog and obscured by the drizzling rain beginning to fall. The salvage of the ship had gone quite smoothly until that morning, when Hansel had started using the charges the mages had conjured. Maraad had mentioned pale orcs in one of the briefings on the dangers of their current environs, but as far as she could remember nothing had been said concerning the fact the swarming, shambling things were drawn to sources of magic. The emaciated and ghastly once-orcs had rushed the work crew on the beach, driven by slavering, mindless hunger for the energies given off by the arcane explosives. 

Killing them was a mercy.

Killing them was a _relief_.

Ashen had been itching to kill something for a week. She’d been a bit worried that her control would slip, and that she’d stab someone she absolutely should not stab. As much as she liked Khadgar, Ashen had felt a weight lift from her shoulders and her breathing ease when he left to aid the Horde—for when Khadgar left, Cordana Felsong had gone with him.

_The best that can be said of you is that you’re a useful monster, Commander._

Ashen blinked to clear the rain from her eyes as she lopped the head off another pale orc. The head spun away, then started a slow, wobbling roll across the sand. She wasn’t pretending that these things were stand-ins for the Warden. That would have been juvenile, unprofessional, and petty…not to mention a bit dark.

That was probably what made it so excellently therapeutic.

Fine. She _was_ pretending the creatures were stand-ins for the Warden. 

“Mages forward!” Ashen shouted over the din. “Stand ready with those tracer spells—wait for my call!”

A flash of white in her peripheral vision signaled the mages moving up in response to her orders. Zell Sparkbolt, a gnome mage who’d arrived with the reinforcements from Stormwind, saluted her brightly. Zell’s green mohawk was wilting in the damp, and the goggles he insisted on wearing were slightly askew. The gnome was flanked by the Sutherton twins, whose identical faces bore expressions of determination. “On your order, Commander!” 

Ashen stood sweeping the beach with an assessing gaze for a moment as her soldiers pressed forward, driving the remaining creatures back. She needed a few of the pale orcs to break and run—fortunately, they seemed to loathe water, and Ashen was expecting the drizzle to turn into a downpour at any moment. “Contain and disable!” 

A chorus of acknowledgements rose from her team. The crew working to salvage the Iron Horde warship had rigged shielded lanterns to combat the challenges created by perpetual darkness of Shadowmoon, and those lanterns had been turned toward the beach after Ashen’s forces had freed the workers. It seemed to be getting darker, despite the light being cast over the sand. Ashen glanced skyward. 

_Come on_ , she urged silently. 

The pale orcs suddenly sank into crouches, distorted faces jerking upward. A split second later it began to rain in earnest—heavy, pelting sheets of water that made visibility fall to nearly nothing. The creatures hissed and howled, scrambling backward desperately through the sand. Some of the lanterns spluttered out, leaving Ashen squinting against the suddenly intense glow of her runed blade illuminating the rain and mist. “Cast at will,” she ordered the mages, before turning her attention to her soldiers. “Do not pursue!”

Magic flared against her senses as the three mages hurled spells after the fleeing pale orcs. Trails of misty, white-violet and blue threads sped after the pack, finding and wrapping targets like gossamer nets—or at least, that’s how it looked to Ashen. The casting behind her slowed, then halted, and she felt another brief spike of active magic as Zell double-checked their success. 

“We got them, Commander,” the gnome reported brightly. “We’ll be able to find them once they go to ground.”

The tracers were faint, but Ashen could still sense them well enough even as the pack left the sand of the beach behind, fleeing from the storm. Even if the mages couldn’t find them later, she could. “Nicely done,” she told them, nodding briefly.

Zell and the Sutherton twins beamed at her. Ashen eyed the human women for a moment. Over the last few days she’d noticed the blondes normally wore a doe-eyed, slightly vapid expression that was currently absent. She’d also realized that part of reason behind the ineptitude that had prompted Khadgar’s vocal complaints about the pair was that, simply put, they were terrified of him. Ashen had squashed her amusement, and asked Zell to take the pair to task. Under the chipper gnome’s tutelage, they’d helped conjure very precise explosives and demonstrated a startling talent for setting wards.

“I want the wards around this side of the camp strengthened,” Ashen told them, gesturing toward the harbor with her free hand. “I don’t want the remaining pale orcs drawn to any magic inside Lunarfall.”

“We’ll start right away, Commander,” April, the eldest of the twins, assured her softly. All three mages saluted her, then teleported back into Lunarfall in a flash of white.

Ashen turned her attention back to the beach, letting the runes on her sword extinguish as she did so. Her brows lifted as she raked a glowing gaze over the bodies in the sand. _I didn’t realize we killed so many._

Grumbling and dragging footsteps heralded Maraad’s approach. The draenei paladin had his massive hammer slung over one shoulder, evidence of the fight still dripping from the purple crystal. His eyes were narrowed against the lashing rain. “Could have been worse,” he muttered without preamble. 

He looked as bedraggled as Ashen felt; strands of her hair had escaped the knot at the back of her head and were plastered to her face and neck, sending steady rivulets of water over her skin. They were both covered in stinking gore and surrounded by the distinctive wet-dog tang of damp leather. 

“We didn’t lose anyone that was working salvage, so there’s that at least,” Ashen agreed, sticking the point of her broadsword in the sand and shifting her hand so her palm was over the pommel. “The injuries looked minor.”

The motley collection of Alliance soldiers was sheathing weapons and slinging shields across backs with clanks and clatters that reached her clearly through the downpour. Ashen pushed her sword more firmly into the sand as they came to stand before her, awaiting orders. “Well fought,” she praised, saluting them and receiving salutes in turn. “Injured back to camp for medical attention. Tell Lieutenant Thorn I need a handful of people with shovels sent down to the beach.”

“Aye, Commander,” a worgen warrior with an arm cradled to his chest rumbled. Three more soldiers fell in behind him as he began to limp up beach toward camp. 

Ashen exchanged a glance with Maraad, then looked back to those remaining. “Might as well get started,” she muttered. “Drag the bodies up there to be burned,” Ashen commanded, pointing to a spot just past where the sand gave way to grass. She pretended not to hear the tired sighs as they moved away to begin cleaning up the beach.

“The sea’s closer. Why not just toss the whole bleeding lot to the waves?” Hansel asked as he stumped through the sand toward her. 

Ashen hadn’t seen him in the group of soldiers, but was pleased to see the mouthy, hot-headed dwarf was uninjured. She lifted a brow at the demolitionist as she absently scratched at her left arm. “You know that stew you’re so fond of? The one with fish in it?”

“Oh, aye,” Hansel answered, face brightening. The dwarf’s glowing-coal gaze flicked to Maraad as the paladin pointed a finger at the bay with a wry expression. 

“The fish came from the bay,” Ashen explained, mouth twitching. “Do you really want to eat something that’s eaten a dead pale orc?” Hansel’s answer to that was a grimace of disgust as he stomped away to aid in the cleanup. Ashen couldn’t help letting a soft huff of laughter escape.

The laughter faded, and Ashen sighed inwardly. A good commander, she supposed, would pitch in with the cleanup. The death knight pulled her sword from the sand and tapped her magic for a moment, coating the blade with ice. A smart rap of the edge of the blade against the plate on her right boot cracked the skin of ice, and it slid from the blade—taking the gore with it. Satisfied that the sword was mostly clean, Ashen hooked the blade to the catches on the back of her armor. 

A small sound of amusement made her glance over at Maraad, who was watching her with a raised brow. The paladin lifted his hammer from his shoulder and offered it to her with an expectant expression. Ashen took it with a roll of her eyes and coated the hammer’s crystalline head with ice before handing the weapon back. The crystal hummed pleasantly as Maraad flicked a spot with an armored fingertip, dislodging the conjured frost. “A useful ability,” the paladin commented as he examined the ice-free crystal.

“The rain would have gotten the worst of it. Let’s get this done, shall we?” 

Maraad nodded assent, and they joined the soldiers in dragging the corpses of the pale orcs up the beach to what was to be their pyre. It was mindless, disgusting work, but many hands made it lighter and faster. The rain continued to fall, though not as heavily. By the time the last of the bodies was placed on the pile, it had nearly stopped altogether. Some of the laborers from the architect’s team arrived on the beach with shovels, and Ashen had them relight the lanterns before setting them to work burying what was left on the sand.

After Hansel set fire to the pile, Ashen dismissed her soldiers. She stayed with her back to the fire, watching the work on the beach, as the tired men and women returned to the camp. The crackle of the flames, the roar of surf against the beach, and the thump of shovels into sand carried through the fog as Maraad rejoined her. Several moments of silence passed as they watched the workers, listening for howls and screeches that would mean the pale orcs were back. 

“Are you alright, Ashen?” The paladin asked finally.

She looked to her right to find Maraad watching her with a slightly concerned expression. With a shrug, she turned to let the firelight fall on her left arm and gave the skin over her bicep an assessing look. The replacement armor didn’t fit her well, and it left her arms bare from shoulder to forearm. It had come back to bite her, literally, when they’d first engaged the pale orcs. Ashen had been focused on getting the monsters away from the salvage crew, and ended up with jaws clamped around her left arm. The bite had gone all the way to the bone. She’d killed three of the things before the magic was able to knit the muscle back together. The injury was all but gone; her skin was a darker blue where the creature’s teeth had pierced her, but the color was fading before her eyes. It wouldn’t even scar.

“No permanent damage done,” Ashen answered finally.

The paladin scoffed. “I wasn’t asking about your arm. I’ve seen you take worse hits.” Maraad folded his arms over his chest and turned his gaze out to the sea. “Something’s been bothering you.”

There was a pause as Ashen gave the paladin a sideways glance. “Was it that obvious?”

“Hmph. You’re never obvious—it’s why you win when we play cards,” Maraad groused. “But I have known you long enough to tell when your guard is up, even if I can’t tell why.”

Ashen grimaced, but didn’t bother denying it. He was right, after all. She’d been…out of sorts, to put it mildly, since she’d had a chat with Cordana a week ago—the night of the bonfire.

*

After badgering Ashen to drop his title and use his name, Khadgar had gone striding away with a spring to his step, whistling cheerfully. She watched him until he vanished into the camp proper, grinning to herself and listening as the whistling grew more distant. There were several things Ashen knew she should have been doing—she had some reports to write, lists to compose, and so on—but she had allowed herself the indulgence of sitting there in the grass for a few more minutes. It had taken her awhile to recognize the warm ease she was feeling as contentment, and she had wished to hold on to it for a bit longer.

Eventually, the call of duty prevailed, and Ashen had reached over for her mug and Khadgar’s abandoned one before pushing to her feet. There had still been dancers circling the bonfire, and people milling about the trestle tables and barrels, but the crowd had thinned as the soldiers retired to their tents. As she had moved toward the clearing to return the mugs to the wash barrel, she was intercepted by Cordana Felsong.

Ashen stopped walking when the Warden stepped into her path and eyed her silently, gaze rendered a disconcerting shade of green by the enchantments in her owl-like helm. “Warden,” she greeted after several moments of silence. “What can I do for you?”

“You can start by telling me what designs you have on Archmage Khadgar.” 

The death knight’s brows had slowly drawn together as she stared at the other woman, thrown by the demand. “…What?”

Cordana huffed. “What are your intentions regarding Khadgar? Feigned ignorance doesn’t suit you, Commander.”

“I don’t have any intentions regarding the Archmage, aside from maintaining civility in our professional dealings,” Ashen had responded slowly, flickers of unease starting to crawl through her gut. 

“In that case, you won’t mind minimizing distractions for him by discouraging his attention, will you?” The Warden’s tone had made it quite clear that it wasn’t really a question or a suggestion.

The unease that had been wriggling through Ashen’s innards bloomed into claws of ice. Her grip around the handles of the two tankards left her knuckles bone white. “If you’re accusing me of something, just have out with it.”

Cordana had taken a step closer, cloak shifting aside with the movement. Ashen’s gaze had dropped to a glint of light on metal, which her sharp vision resolved into Cordana’s gauntleted fist tight around the grip of her umbral crescent. “The Wardens profiled Khadgar very thoroughly before assigning me to protect him. Such preparations make it easier to identify signs of corruption through changes in behavior. Khadgar generally prefers his own company, yet he continually seeks you out. Why is that, I wonder?” 

“Oh, who knows? It might even have something to do with the fact I’m commanding half of the force at his disposal to deal with this mess,” Ashen had retorted with an expansive gesture at their current location, unable to squelch her acerbic irritation. 

“Your ‘civility in professional dealings’ is _obviously_ the reason he teleported straight into the enemy lines to retrieve you—and why he made a fool of himself capering around the fire like a besotted child,” Cordana had snapped, voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. “I know what you are, and what you’re capable of.”

Ashen had gone cold as her mind jerked into the past.

She could feel the bite of ice-covered chains, smell the blend of preservatives, alchemical reagents, and decay—

 _Naxxramas,_ her mind whispered.

—the torment of having spells grafted into her natural magic— _it hurts it hurts it hurts—_ she was prisoner in her own body, frozen and aware—mind whispering prayers for death that were met only with silence—

Fear. Pain.

Someone knelt at her feet wearing robes with Kirin Tor markings, blurred features filled with drooling adoration.

Nausea. Hate.

A voice spoke that sounded like a landslide, casually ordering her made even more monstrous. _I have a gift for you, Kel’Thuzad. This one will make an excellent recruiter…once altered._

Disgust. Shame.

The mostly incorporeal touch of a lich trailed down the side of her face, from cheekbone to jaw. Agony bloomed in the wake of the ghostly caress while she remained silent and motionless—robbed of her will.

_Death’s most beautiful face. There will be none who can resist what the Scourge offer._

And finally, there was rage.

Ashen had followed the thread of rage back to the present as it built into a roar that pounded behind her eyes in counterpoint to the clapping and stomping of feet from the clearing. A heartbeat or two had passed. The death knight had suddenly realized her control had wavered when her tightening grip on the tankards’ handles made them snap, dropping brittle, ice coated wood at her feet. The debris had landed with an odd, crunching tinkle of sound—crushing grass frozen by tendrils of chill spreading from beneath her boots.

She had focused desperately on breathing. It took a long moment to ground herself in the present and contain the magic.

Cordana had either been oblivious to the danger or considered it negligible. The Warden was clearly impatient with the silence. “I seem to recall that mages are particularly susceptible to your unnatural abilities. How many of them did you corrupt? You were quite the successful agent of the Cult, after all.”

Ashen could feel the…gifts…from Kel’Thuzad embedded like razor sharp shards of glass deep in the core of her suppressed magic, tightly contained and inactive—the way they’d been since she had regained her free will after the battle at Light’s Hope. Knowing firsthand what it was like to have one’s existence violated in the worst way imaginable, Ashen had sworn she would never rob another of their will.

Unclenching her jaw and speaking had felt like a battle. “What I was forced to do for the Cult of the Damned is hardly a secret,” Ashen rasped, voice low. “I can’t decide whether to be insulted by the fact you’re assuming I’ve bent him to my will, or flattered that you think highly enough of my strength to believe it’s possible. It never occurred to you that your profile on Khadgar might be incomplete or inaccurate, and that your accusations are more than slightly ludicrous?”

“The simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” the Warden had growled back, using her greater height to loom threateningly over the death knight.

Ashen had opened her right hand, flexing her fingers to dislodge the clinging remains of wooden handles. “I fail to see how the ‘simplest explanation’ in this case is that I somehow managed to overpower Khadgar’s will and defenses with magic he didn’t notice. I’ve never met a mage more sensitive to magic than he is, human or otherwise. Had I made the attempt, he would have felt it and likely killed me before you were even able to draw your weapon, Cordana.” Ashen had narrowed her eyes at the Warden as she paused. “You’re doing him a disservice with your assumptions.”

“I’m hardly doing him a disservice by protecting him—”

“But you are by assuming he’s incapable!”

One clawed fingertip of Cordana’s gauntleted hand had dug into Ashen’s sternum to punctuate her words. “Khadgar is a child, meddling with things he doesn’t understand! He sees what he wants to see when he looks at you, but I know you for what you are!” The metal talon had pressed harder into Ashen’s skin. “I know _who_ you are, ‘Ashen’. You will not encourage Khadgar, and you will dispel any magic you’ve cast on him—or I will tell him exactly what he doesn’t see.”

The two women had glowered at each other in silence for a long moment before Ashen finally answered. “The fact that Khadgar is human doesn’t make him a child. He may see what he wants to see, but you only see what you fear.” Cordana had stiffened and inhaled sharply as if to speak, so Ashen stopped her with one raised hand. “I’m not done,” the death knight hissed.

Ashen had taken a deliberate step back to dislodge the prodding gauntlet, and slowly spread her arms wide, palms facing the Warden. “You claim you know me—if that’s true, you’ll take me at my word: I have not magically influenced Khadgar in any way. If you’re not willing to take my word for it, then turn whatever spell you think I’ve cast against me.” When Cordana just stared at her, she had wiggled her fingers at the Warden in a taunting motion, thoroughly done with being courteous. “Just think of it. If you’re right, when you turn it back on me I’ll have no choice but to accede to your wishes. I’ll want to obey. I’ll _need_ to.”

Cordana’s cloak had flung aside as she swiftly leveled the umbral crescent she was clutching at Ashen’s chest. The weapon’s serrated, circular blade had lit with a silvery white glow as the Warden hit her with one of the many spells that allowed those of her discipline to capture enemies by turning their magic against them. 

Ashen’s magic had indeed turned against her. The remaining ice coating the broken tankards and snaking through the grass at her feet from her earlier spike of panic swiftly converged on her before spreading over her skin. The thin coating of frost had been slightly uncomfortable, but was easily broken with a shift of her weight.

Cordana had slowly lowered her round blade, and Ashen let her hands drop to her sides. “Are you satisfied?” Ashen had demanded, obviously feeling no desire to capitulate.

There had been a faint clink and metallic hiss as Cordana put her crescent away. “No. The best that can be said of you is that you’re a useful monster, Commander. I will be watching—and I, too, am known to keep my word. If there’s even the slightest indication you’re a threat to him…”

 _So much for civil professional dealings with the paragon of kaldorei justice_ , Ashen remembered thinking.

“Do what you must,” Ashen had answered flatly. “I’ll not antagonize him simply because you wish it.”

The Warden had glared at her for another long moment before turning and gliding into the shadows. As she watched Cordana stalk away, Ashen had felt the agonizing hunger of a death knight flare to life in answer to her burst of emotional turmoil. She could feel the runes on her blades, despite their location with her pack on the other side of the camp. The magic binding her soul to her body whispered against her mind, promising relief from the torment—all she had to do was kill someone…or several someones. 

The need to stick her swords in something had steadily built as the next three days unfolded into what became a very predictable pattern.

Every time Ashen had spoken with Khadgar after that encounter, Cordana had loomed close like a bladed shadow, threat implicit in her lurking silence. Focusing on what had to be done was the only way Ashen knew to keep a leash on her temper; fortunately, she had hardly lacked for things needing to be done. She had given the Warden no reason to glare dagger-like promises of imminent doom, and it didn’t matter—for if anything, the next time Ashen spoke with Khadgar, Cordana would be even closer to him, with even more pointed glares. She had kept conversation to necessary exchanges of information and excused herself.

Ashen had figured Khadgar hadn’t really noticed—he was just as preoccupied with his to-do list as she was with hers. Then he had started trying to draw her into conversation.

_Commander, a moment. What do you think of...?_

_I was about to go in search of lunch. Join me?_

_So formal! Did I sacrifice my dignity for nothing? That would truly be a tragedy, as I didn’t have much to start with._

And on it went, endless, good-natured overtures from a mage with tousled silver hair and arcane blue eyes—each of which she had declined with polite excuses, stabs of regret, and irrational surges of guilt and shame. Ashen had known she hadn’t done anything wrong—at least where Khadgar was concerned. That wasn’t why she had kept disengaging.

It was the building need to have a blades-only sort of conversation with Cordana that had made it necessary. 

Each time, Khadgar had let her go. The only reaction he had displayed—aside from a slightly distracted, friendly expression—was a brief, perplexed twitch of his brows. 

Each time, the tension between Warden and death knight had increased. Now that she was calmer, Ashen found herself darkly amused by the fact Cordana had seemingly wanted to stab her just as much as she’d wanted to stab the Warden.

And then there were the nightmares. Ashen only remembered fragments of what she had done while her will and most of her awareness had been suppressed, but it was enough. Her dreams after that exchange with Cordana turned into a repeating collage of living individuals who’d proven resistant to the Cult of the Damned’s overtures. In a hazy parade they knelt at her feet, eyes glazed, promising to do anything— _anything—_ to please her (which really meant pleasing the Lich King). Invariably, they turned into Khadgar, and Ashen woke shaking with revulsion and shame. It was stupid, and it fed the anger she couldn’t shake. What she had told Cordana was simple fact; it wouldn’t have worked on Khadgar, even if she had wanted to target him— _which she didn’t._

Ashen kept telling herself the images were only nightmares. She’d been through worse than a few dreams—yet the image of Khadgar kneeling at her feet, expression absent the teasing, good-humored warmth that usually greeted her was a wound on her soul. She didn’t want adoration or desire written on his face or burning in his eyes—

Not if it was artificial.

And _that_ was what truly hurt most—that realization that a part of her wished to see true affection in Khadgar’s eyes. Ashen no longer belonged anywhere but the battlefield, and he could never be hers. Friendship was all that could be had with the living, and then only rarely. Most of them were like Cordana, and only saw the Damned…and that was probably for the best.  
  
*

Ashen looked up at Maraad as he shifted to face her. It had taken her a week—and the rampant slaughter of pale orcs—to regain her composure, and she didn’t want to talk about it. There was too much risk she’d lose what progress she’d made. Still, the paladin was her friend, and she valued him too much to reward his concern with silence. She flicked gauntleted fingers in the direction of the beach, where the sound of shovels and falling sand marked the continuing cleansing. “Do you ever wish it was that simple to bury the past?”

Maraad’s broad, pale blue face had a grim, knowing expression. He nodded and rested a heavy hand against her pauldron for a moment. The vindicator understood; he shouldered a burden of his own with its accompanying rage, grief, and guilt. “Should you ever find a shovel large enough…” the paladin said as he gave her shoulder a last pat.

“I’ll let you know,” Ashen promised.

*

Several hours later, Ashen was seated before a small fire with a discarded, empty bowl by one knee and Luuka perched on the other. The draenei boy had sprinted at her when she returned to Lunarfall, slowing just enough before he wrapped his arms around her leg that he hadn’t brained himself on her plate greaves. Luuka had been happy to see her and supremely unconcerned about the filth on her armor. Having someone happy to see her was something of a novelty for Ashen.

She figured Lieutenant Thorn needed a promotion, because the dark-haired, one-eyed woman hadn’t so much as blinked while giving her report to a death knight with a child clinging to one leg like an octopus. They’d briefly discussed the attack and plans to exterminate the pale orcs once the tracer spells revealed the location of the nest (for lack of a better word), and Ashen had given a few necessary orders. The salvage of the ship wouldn’t resume until the pale orcs were dealt with, leaving that crew available for other things for the time being. Ashen had tasked a blushing Lieutenant Thorn with coordinating the change of plans with Baros Alexston, the architect from Stormwind.

It was cute that the brusque Lieutenant and charming architect couldn’t stop making eyes at each other. 

With the necessary business taken care of, Ashen was finally able to discard her armor and wash the leavings of the fight away. Luuka’s cheerful chatter had a smile tugging at her mouth as they ate dinner. The boy set his bowl in his lap so he could wave his hands excitedly to punctuate his comments. Frosty abandoned Luuka’s shoulder and fluttered down to cling to the rim of Ashen’s bowl, chirping protest at the movement of his former perch.

“I’m almost as tall as Brightstone, and she’s a growed-up! She says she won’t get any taller—why’s she so short? Zell’s even shorter, and he’s a growed-up, too. Why is his hair green? Is he sick?” Luuka stared up at Ashen with wide eyes as he fired questions at her.

“Brightstone and Zell are both from races that don’t get very tall. She’s a dwarf and he’s a gnome. And no, Zell isn’t sick,” Ashen answered with a laugh. 

“Oh,” Luuka said in surprise, narrow face scrunching in confusion. His narrow face brightened almost immediately. “When is Archmage coming back? Frosty likes him!”

“Khadgar will be back in a week,” Ashen answered, smiling faintly and brushing her left hand over the dark, night-blue spikes of Luuka’s hair. 

The draenei boy leaned into her, and took a deep breath before blowing it out. “Frosty likes it here a lot more than that dumb town,” Luuka mumbled, voice muffled.

The death knight frowned slightly, slowly rubbing Luuka’s thin back with her palm. Two days prior, a frantic messenger had arrived from Embaari Village with the news that Luuka was missing. Ashen had found him being chased by wolves a couple of miles from Lunarfall with the help of one of the druids. Luuka had been taken to Embaari with the other orphans rescued from Tanaan the morning after their arrival in Lunarfall. He’d run away, though Ashen had yet to determine why. 

“Frosty didn’t like Embaari Village?” Luuka shook his head emphatically. “Why not?” Ashen prompted.

“They were mean and called him names,” Luuka whispered. “Frosty didn’t like the bad talking.” Ashen wrapped her arm around him, and rocked him gently. Several moments of silence passed. “Frosty wouldn’t sing and they said they would pull his wings off ‘cause he’s a dumb fake stupid—”

The words got faster and closer together, and the boy’s shoulders started to shake. Ashen shifted, resettling Luuka in her lap so she could wrap him with both arms. She rocked him and made soothing noises into his hair for a few moments while he clutched her shirt with small fists. Khadgar had told her what he’d discovered about Luuka before his departure from Lunarfall. It didn’t surprise her much that Luuka had encountered bullying from the other children; a young mage with a familiar was different—other. 

Ashen knew all too well that it could be dangerous to be other. At the very least, it usually meant being feared. Where there was fear, cruelty followed only too easily. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Ashen asked, brushing a hand through Luuka’s hair. A tear-stained, angular face looked up at her. After studying her for a long moment, Luuka nodded. She paused, trying to frame what she had to say in a way the boy would understand. “Sometimes when people are scared, they say mean things. They’ll think that if they can make you scared, then they won’t be afraid.”

“But why? Frosty isn’t scary!” Luuka protested.

“I don’t think so either. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t scary to the other children,” Ashen told him softly. She saw Luuka frown briefly before he nestled into her again. 

“Can you fix it? The bad fear talking?”

“No, you can’t fix it,” Ashen said after a moment. “The best thing you can do is learn to tell when fear is behind the bad talking, so that when it is…you can stop listening.”

Luuka peered at her dubiously.

“Words can’t do much if you don’t listen to them,” Ashen pointed out reasonably. She watched the boy’s face as he considered it, feeling a smile pulling at her mouth at the furrowed brow and intense concentration he was displaying. He probably didn’t understand, but at least he was calmer. She rocked him, rubbing his back, and thought about fear.

 _You only see what you fear,_ she had told Cordana. 

The Wardens were trained to deal in absolutes. Good and evil, black and white. Magic, to their way of thinking, led to corruption and evil deeds. It was a matter of when, never a matter of if. Corruption could only be answered with destruction. What room was there, then, for second chances? For redemption? Forgiveness and atonement fell somewhere in the infinite shades of gray between black and white.

Warden absolutes didn’t allow for such a thing as a useful monster…or a mage that was also a good man. 

The last of Ashen’s anger dissolved in a surge of pity.

Ashen surfaced from her thoughts to find that Luuka had fallen asleep. She wrapped a hand around the bird she’d conjured for him and moved it to her shoulder, then gathered Luuka in her arms and carefully stood. She was able to settle him into his bedroll without waking him. After pulling Frosty from her shoulder and setting him next to Luuka, she quietly left for the little command post. 

*

Ashen jerked upright, pointed ears straining to find evidence of whatever had pulled her to wakefulness. The outpost was silent, save for what she had learned were Shadowmoon Valley’s normal nocturnal noises. There was something expectant in the air, like the feeling that came with a held breath. She grimaced, and pressed her right palm over the scar beneath her left breast. The spot where Frostmourne had pierced her sometimes radiated cold—as it was doing now. 

It had probably just been a nightmare…but she couldn’t remember having one.

After listening for another moment, Ashen reached for the broadsword she’d left on the table and stood. Her soundless, gliding steps took her into the camp, where she still didn’t find any cause for disturbed sleep. She could feel the gentle hum of undisturbed wards against her senses, and see guards at appropriate places along the palisade. 

Ashen had just decided everything was fine when all hell broke loose.

Power surged against her senses, and she saw a flash of pink-gold light. Instinct took over, and Ashen took two swift steps back, shifting into a ready stance as the runes on her sword flared to life. The guards shouted, and the Alliance reacted with impressive speed as sounds of panic spread through the camp. Within a few seconds, there was a ring of soldiers with drawn weapons and varying states of dress surrounding the flickering light.

The glow drew into a tight ball, then took on a more definite form. Swords came up in a clatter of metal.

“Stand down!” Ashen commanded as she lowered her blade. Gazes flicked to her, and slowly her soldiers obeyed. There was a blob in her outpost. A translucent blob in coruscating pink and gold that she recognized.

“Commander?” Lieutenant Thorn asked, uncovered eye flicking from the death knight to the intruder.

“Khadgar’s servant,” Ashen told her by way of explanation. “I’ve seen it before. Return to your posts or bedrolls.”

Her forces obeyed, though she doubted anyone would be going back to sleep. They were all a bit twitchy from the attack yesterday. Ashen’s glowing gaze narrowed on the construct. It studied her for a moment, then lifted a hand and offered her what appeared to be a letter.

She took the missive, brows rising sharply. Breaking the seal and unfolding the document revealed that it was several pages worth of diagrams, notes, and a letter. The pages were covered with bold, confident script. Ashen’s brows drew together in confusion as she scanned through it all, only to have her gaze catch on a name she knew. 

**… _a goblin fellow by the name of Gazlowe to design their stronghold. Apparently, he can take credit for Orgrimmar, the recently penetrated fortress…_**

Ashen stared at the page. Blinking a couple of times didn’t change the words at all. Khadgar had dispatched his arcane elemental to her outpost in the wee hours of the morning, sending the camp into a panic, to send her a letter in which he snarked about Gazlowe. The longer she stared at the letter and the glowing, amorphous servant, the hotter her temper flared. 

It wasn’t an emergency. It wasn’t crucial.

It was a letter full of _gossip._

At three in the Light-forsaken morning.

After the week she’d had, it was the last straw.

The spell that formed the construct was intricate and exquisitely crafted—she’d expect nothing less from someone of Khadgar’s skill. Ashen could see the runes and control nodes in her mind’s eye—and as she studied the spell, she knew exactly what answer she’d send to Khadgar. 


	11. A Frenemy Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashen's temper collides with Khadgar's competitive streak and unique sense of humor, resulting in a week of shenanigans that are unprofessional at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it's not clear who's writing what at the end of the chapter: Khadgar's writing is in bold italics, and Ashen's is in bold.
> 
> My apologies for the delay in updating. I hope everyone is safe and well, and that the coming holidays are filled with joy for you and yours. Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this nonsense. =)

Khadgar was having the sort of morning that would have been hysterically, tear-jerkingly funny if it had been happening to someone else _._ He figured he would laugh about it later—if he lived through the utter mortification. The force of his embarrassment had his face hot enough that he suspected he could melt most of the snow in Frostfire Ridge. On the bright side, he was in no danger of losing his nose to the cold.

_Either Ashen’s insane, or she hates me. Perhaps both._

The arcane servant Khadgar had dispatched to Lunarfall with a letter for Ashen had been blessedly unable to speak. Now, however, his construct was circling the lower level of Bladespire Citadel and bellowing a song at the top of the lungs it didn’t have. Khadgar had heard the ditty before, though never in creatively mis-translated Orcish. Ashen’s touch was evident, for the original song lacked the violent, sarcastic absurdity that ran through her translation. 

He could remember Turalyon’s discouraged description of Alleria’s perspective on humans—their lives were but a blink in the eyes of such a long-lived people. That attitude had been prevalent among the high elves when they had started teaching humanity the secrets of the arcane. Among the detritus of the mingling of humans and elves through the centuries was a more than slightly offensive song about the disparity in the lifespans of the two races. Humans didn’t just die more quickly than elves…they were more prolific breeders.

And so, as the bawdy tavern song went, that meant there were several interesting ways to take advantage of the only thing humans were good for. Khadgar couldn’t remember how many verses of thinly veiled innuendo there were in the song, but he kept hoping the arcane construct would stop before it got to the more specific verses—thus far, Khadgar’s attempts to silence the damn thing had only made it louder. The suggestions for how to use humans of either sex in bed were bad enough, but the verses about the uses of a human mage were worse. The song was considered offensive, so of course all the Kirin Tor apprentices learned it—

And got ideas from it. The elves had pretty much written the book on _that_ subject. What teenage mage with runaway hormones wouldn’t be curious? Not that teenage hormonal mages had exclusive rights to curiosity inspired by dirty limericks or the sight of a certain elf with a dimpled smile…

Not that he was curious—because he wasn’t! Khadgar hadn’t heard the beginnings of the song, recognized it, and wandered into momentary musings about that wretched, infuriating woman and off-color applications of magic. He wasn’t twelve. Or seventeen…or a particularly convincing liar, for that matter.

Light have mercy, what if she knew?

Khadgar felt another wave of heat rushing up his neck to his face. _At this rate, I’m going to be the first mage to spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment._

The servant’s arrival and sudden outpouring of noise had roused the Horde and Frostwolves from hungover slumber in a furious clamor of shouted, pained cursing and rattling armor and weapons. Khadgar had fared only slightly better than his inebriated allies—he had been asleep in a hammock strung up in the corner of the room he had been using as a temporary study. He had managed not to fall out of the stupid thing, though he now knew panicked flailing and hammocks didn’t mix well. He’d pushed his way into the inner ring as the jostling crowd of soldiers had slowly lowered weapons, mouths agape and eyes wide while the servant continued to assault their ears with its warbling.

Then Len’thalar had started laughing—damn his pointy-eared hide. A few seconds after that, the elven hunter was on the stone floor of the citadel, braying like the ass Khadgar believed him to be. Now, several verses into the debacle that was Khadgar’s morning, everyone present was clapping along and snickering at the worst bits of imaginative innuendo. The blood elves kept having to mop tears of hilarity from their faces.

Since Khadgar was the only human present, the song was clearly meant to be about him—

 _She’s ruthless,_ Khadgar groaned inwardly as the song reached the first verse about the…features…of human mages. _There are more merciful ways she could have told me to fuck off. Light, I wish she would have just_ stabbed _me—at least it would have been quicker. She could have even written me a note, like a sane person._

Khadgar wasn’t certain where his life had taken a wrong turn, but there had to have been one somewhere. 

When the torture finally ended, Khadgar was left holding a letter gingerly between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand some distance away from his body as if it might bite him. At this point, he wasn’t willing to put anything past Ashen. The beleaguered mage also found himself explaining to Thrall, Durotan, and Len’thalar that _no_ , it wasn’t a malfunction of his magic, the construct had been sabotaged—and _yes_ , he knew exactly who did it.

“This Ashen of yours is unmated, then?” Durotan asked in amusement. “Your ways may be different than ours, but it seems like she’s challenging you, Archmage.”

Khadgar’s only answer to that was a slack-jawed expression of incredulity that made the other three men laugh. Thrall thumped his shoulder with a grin. “Durotan’s not wrong. If she were an orc, you could take that as an invitation to prove your prowess.”

“That’s not…She isn’t mi—”

“You should present her with a trophy of some sort. Prove your superiority over your enemies,” Durotan told the flummoxed human, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Gul’dan’s head, for example,” Len’thalar agreed, grinning at Khadgar.

“Oh, good. I had been _so_ concerned that ugly mug of his would clash with my décor,” Khadgar said witheringly, eyes narrowing at the Horde commander.

“She’d probably like it more than the dead plants you humans are so fond of using as gifts,” Len’thalar retorted, chuckling.

The day was pretty much a loss after that. Khadgar accompanied Len’thalar and the Horde back to Wor’gol later that morning, only to find the song went with them—sung enthusiastically by both Horde and Frostwolves. Draka and Drek’Thar were highly entertained by the whole thing…and they agreed with Durotan’s assessment.

“A warrior of her skill would respect a suitable demonstration of strength.” Khadgar dragged a hand over his face in exasperation as he glowered at a smirking Drek’Thar.

“Challenge her to combat,” Draka suggested. “Every woman values proof of a man’s respect for her strength.”

That mental picture rabbit-trailed back into inappropriate uses of magic. _Perverted old codger,_ Khadgar thought at himself irritably.

Yet as the day wore on and evening fell, the archmage became slowly, reluctantly amused by the situation. He had learned to laugh at himself—and everything else—out of necessity, and Ashen’s translation got funnier each time he heard parts of it. She had a startling talent for rephrasing the original innuendo so that it contained references to various weapons—the result was as alarming as it was improbable, and somehow more humorous for it.

There was also an odd side-effect of Ashen’s stunt, in that the Horde and Frostwolves warmed to Khadgar. He continued to receive bizarre, unsought advice on how to court Ashen, even after the return to Frostwall. It seemed they had decided to adopt him, and were trying to help him as if he were a well-meaning, somewhat bumbling cousin. It was, perhaps, the opposite of help for something that would never happen…but the advice seemed well-meant.

Most of it seemed well-meant, anyway. The bit he ended up listening to, though, was probably the bit he should have ignored.

Khadgar settled on a crate inside the hot spring grotto at Frostwall as darkness fell, and plunked Atiesh nearby so the staff could provide some illumination. He was absently watching the Horde bed down for the night, tapping the unopened letter from Ashen against his palm with his brow creased in thought. He figured he should open and read the missive, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was in it. It was safe to say that he was completely out of his depth where the death knight was concerned.

The whole thing was puzzling, really. Khadgar wasn’t just baffled over why she’d done it—he didn’t understand _how_ she’d managed it in the first place. Ashen could obviously sense magic, and had admitted she’d been a mage. From what he could tell, she couldn’t actively use her natural magic—aside from the fluke one-off that had resulted in Luuka’s bird. Khadgar also suspected she had a limited ability to unravel or resist magic in various forms, but none of that explained the fact that his favorite arcane elemental could now talk and _sing_. Sporadic, unpredictable bursts of suppressed power were one thing. Hijacking one of _his_ spells was a completely different matter—

Or was it spelljacking? Light have mercy on fools and archmages, because that went _there_ again _—_

The worst part, in Khadgar’s opinion, was that the mystery just made Ashen more fascinating. He should have been at least mildly peeved at her—and maybe he was, to an extent. The truth was that he was more disappointed at the thought the death knight possibly loathed him than miffed over the public performance of the low-brow ballad. The itch to unravel the conundrum she represented was winning over everything, though. Mostly. Maybe.

And that brought him back to the letter. Khadgar glanced down at it, scowling. He could read it, or he could summon the servant and ask it what the hell had happened. He should probably do both. _Later,_ Khadgar decided with a grimace, still not entirely ready to face potential confirmation that Ashen despised him, mystery or no. It was going to be a long, awkward campaign against the Iron Horde if she did.

“Rough day, pal?” Khadgar looked up to find the green-skinned goblin engineer, Gazlowe, studying him curiously. “You got the look of a guy that’s run into trouble with a woman.”

“Strange might be a better way to describe it.” Khadgar tucked the letter back into his belt pouch, then lifted a brow at the goblin. “There’s a ‘look’ for that, is there?”

“Well, sure,” Gazlowe replied with a grin, baring his pointy teeth. It heightened the engineer’s resemblance to an imp, though he looked decidedly more friendly. “That, and I heard an interestin’ song today. Not sure what you’re lookin’ so glum for, though.”

Khadgar lifted his brows wryly. “I thought you said you’d heard the song?”

“Maybe not all of it, but enough. I mean, it’s not like she hates ya,” Gazlowe commented as he clambered onto a crate across from Khadgar. The mage’s brows crept further upward in disbelief, which didn’t escape the goblin’s notice. Gazlowe’s golden eyes glittered with amusement. “So that’s what the long face is for. I’m gonna help ya out, and I won’t even charge ya, ‘cause I’m a standup guy like that. Look, pal, the thing with the song? It’s not what you’re thinkin’. Be flattered.”

“ _Flattered?_ ” Khadgar echoed dubiously, eyeing the goblin with a deepening frown. 

Gazlowe stared back at him for a long moment before folding his arms over his chest. “Geez. Alright, lemme put it this way. Ever heard the term ‘frenemy’? Don’t answer that, it’s _rhetorical_ ,” the engineer said as he pointed a stubby green finger at Khadgar for emphasis. “So, a frenemy is a friend, see? But with more…antagonism, I guess. Tends to happen when there’s _tension_ , if you catch my drift,” Gazlowe explained, expression shifting into a comical leer that left Khadgar no room to doubt what the goblin meant by ‘tension’. “Look, just trust me on this: antagonize her back and _enjoy it_ , for crying out loud.”

“That’s your advice?” Khadgar asked flatly after a prolonged beat of silence. It was ridiculous, in his opinion. Especially the bit about…tension. Khadgar was certain that was entirely one-sided—his, to be specific.

“Yep! Oh, and one more thing,” Gazlowe began as he hopped off the crate. Khadgar quirked his brows upward questioningly. “If it blows up in your face—”

“At least the advice was free?” The archmage guessed drolly.

“Hah! Exactly!” Gazlowe crowed, slapping his knee as he guffawed. “Know what? You’re not so bad for a clueless human mook.”

“Thanks…I think.” Khadgar watched the goblin swagger away, and shook his head to himself. 

Left to his own devices once again in the circle of light emitted by Atiesh, Khadgar pulled the letter from his belt pouch before opening it with a sigh. There was only one way to know what was in it, and he supposed it was just best to get it over with. When he carefully smoothed the pages flat on his knee, Khadgar was presented with the diagrams he’d sent to Ashen. A knot that he hadn’t realized was in his gut loosened as his gaze swept her notes. Flipping through the pages revealed she’d not only left him notes, but had added some sketches with questions for him. There were also a couple of pages that contained nothing but Ashen’s graceful, flowing script. Khadgar shuffled the diagrams behind the letter and started reading.

The tone of the letter was wry—not angry. As he read her response to his letter, the corners of Khadgar’s mouth slowly curled upward. Though Ashen never told him exactly why he’d gotten a singing servant back, there was enough in the letter that he could piece together what likely happened. It seemed he’d inadvertently sent the Alliance outpost into a panic after they’d had something of a rough day, so she’d returned the favor—only with a hefty side of snide. Upon reaching the end of the letter, he found a postscript under her signature that made his brows shoot toward his hairline and his face heat.

**Though I was aware this type of servitor drew on the attributes of the caster as a template, I was quite surprised at how much it sounds like you. (A snobbier you with an even larger ego, but you nonetheless.) What a lovely baritone you have, Archmage…perfect for singing obscenities in Orcish. Perhaps you’ll serenade Lunarfall? Would you need to have…oh, what was it—a couple more than several too many drinks beforehand?**

_Cheeky woman_ , Khadgar thought as he smothered a sheepish grin. Ashen had used his arcane servant to make a colorfully vocal point, teased him about that evening in Lunarfall, and _still_ refused to address him by name rather than title. The archmage shuffled the letter to the bottom of the small stack of pages, still smiling despite his efforts to school his expression. He spent the next couple of minutes trying to focus on the annotated diagrams, but his mind was darting all over the place. Khadgar felt relief that Ashen didn’t loathe him mingling with a tinge of irritation that he found her somewhat maddening…

 _Antagonize her back,_ temptation whispered in the corner of his mind. _I could,_ Khadgar thought as a slow smirk tugged at his mouth. In his mind’s eye, Ashen was standing with him at the prow of a stolen warship, marked face flushed with embarrassment over not being able to breathe in her broken armor. _The battle-hardened, blushing death knight,_ he mused, smirk stretching into a grin, _who requested a serenade for Lunarfall and sent me a singing servant…This is a terrible idea._

Knowing it was a terrible idea wasn’t enough to keep Khadgar from doing it. Turnaround was fair play, after all. Ashen had started it—

But he was going to win.  
  
*

The next morning, the misty, night-dark air in Lunarfall was filled with the clacking of wooden practice blades. Ashen pivoted sharply as Lieutenant Thorn thrust a wooden sword at her ribs. The action was more reflex than necessity; the strike was closer to accurate than in their previous sparring sessions, but still would have missed. “Better,” Ashen encouraged as the lieutenant grimaced in frustration.

Thorn scoffed, but didn’t argue as they shifted back into ready stances and started through the drills again. The women moved through the first exchange of blows, with Ashen adjusting where necessary to meet strikes that were off target. “It’s not better enough,” Lieutenant Thorn groused after a few moments.

Ashen couldn’t help the smile that flickered across her face at her second-in-command’s impatience. “Getting there, Thorn. You couldn’t hit me when I was standing still last week.”

“Don’t remind me,” the other woman sighed. 

Lieutenant Thorn’s acceptance of a position as second-in-command of Lunarfall had been contingent upon not being permanently stuck on desk duty. As far as Ashen was concerned, they were too short-handed to consign anyone to a desk. However, Thorn had lost an eye during their mad flight from the Iron Horde in Tanaan, and was still adjusting to her suddenly unreliable depth perception. Ashen was more than willing for her lieutenant to command field missions—once she could consistently strike and parry. And so, morning sparring sessions had become routine.

There was a comforting rhythm to the exchange, despite Thorn’s struggles to correctly judge distances. Ashen was lost in the flow of strikes and parries when a burst of power lit her senses. The death knight reflexively whipped her wooden blades toward the flare of magic, turning straight into the path of Lieutenant Thorn’s practice sword. A solid hit to her side made Ashen exhale in a sharp ‘oof’ as Khadgar’s servant materialized before the dull points of her weapons. For a moment, Ashen was a bit tempted to swat the translucent elemental with one of the blades. It wouldn’t do anything to the creature, most likely, but it would give her an outlet for her sudden spike of irritation.

“Apologies, Commander,” Thorn offered, lowering her sword.

Ashen waved the apology away as she straightened, then lifted a brow at the arcane servitor. It was shaped like an inverted teardrop, with a lumpy protrusion near the top that mimicked a face. Two glowing, golden points served as eyes, and there were no other discernable features—yet it still managed to silently communicate how utterly unimpressive it found her. She was about to ask what the thing wanted when it spoke. 

“Good morning, Commander,” the servant said in a voice oddly like Khadgar’s. It would have sounded exactly like Khadgar—if the mage had been a snobby nobleman from Lordaeron. “Archmage Khadgar accepts your challenge, and instructed me to inform you that you have the option to surrender at any time.”

 _Challenge? What challenge?_ Ashen shifted both practice blades to her right hand, then tucked them between her left arm and her side as she stared at the servant in puzzlement.

“What’s it going on about?” Lieutenant Thorn asked her curiously.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Ashen admitted, glancing over at her second-in-command briefly.

“I am not an ‘ _it_.’ I am Arkamaedes,” the servant informed them, pink-gold form bristling with injured dignity.

“Right,” Thorn said slowly, cutting her eye over at Ashen and lifting a brow. 

“Do you have any other messages for me, Arkamaedes?” The death knight asked in an attempt at patience.

“Yes,” it— _he—_ answered before making a sound like he was clearing his throat. To Ashen’s bemusement, it— _Arkamaedes-the-not-it_ —seemed to straighten before lifting one taloned, translucent hand aloft and extending the other toward her. She only had to wonder at the dramatic pose for a moment before the morning went from mildly unusual to bizarre.

“Roses are red,” Khadgar’s servant began portentously. “Violets are blue. Ashen is violent, this much is true. Oh, maiden fair, with hair silver in hue—quite capable of spouting a dirty limerick or two. Have you no idea what you put me through? I’d ask for mercy, if I thought it in you. Instead I’ll accept this challenge you threw, and torment you well with a bad verse or few.”

Ashen’s brows had lifted steadily throughout the recitation, and she stared speechlessly at the servant as it fell silent. _I’m having a very strange morning,_ she thought. “That’s the message? From _Khadgar_?”

“Yes, Commander,” Arkamaedes answered in a tone that indicated he thought she was a bit slow. “ _I_ certainly have no reason to send you poetry.”

Lieutenant Thorn made a faint, but clearly rude noise. “That’s not poetry. If bad was his goal I’d say he got it in one.”

That earned a huff of amusement from Ashen. 

“Perhaps you wish to surrender now, Commander?” Arkamaedes asked with what Ashen suspected might have been glee. 

She eyed the creature suspiciously, still uncertain why the word ‘surrender’ was being tossed about in conjunction with deliberately shoddy verse. It was petty, but the only thing Ashen was sure of was that she hated that word. _Surrender._ She felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t halt the flicker of annoyance or the bristling of her pride in response. 

“No,” Ashen told the servant shortly.

“Archmage Khadgar was hoping you’d refuse,” the servant informed her before vanishing with a faint, whispering crackle of sound.

After staring at the space the servant had occupied for a couple of moments, Ashen glanced over at Lieutenant Thorn, shrugged, and decided to get on with her morning. Despite not really paying close attention to the rumors she tended to hear in settings filled with off-duty soldiers, Ashen remembered that Khadgar was usually described as eccentric when his name surfaced. She didn’t disagree with the assessment, and figured it just made him more interesting. Whatever that was with the servant and the blathering about challenge and surrender was probably just Khadgar being…Khadgar. 

A handful of hours later, Ashen was walking through the abandoned Draenei fishing village near Lunarfall’s natural harbor when the servant appeared again. Though the nest of pale orcs had been eradicated, Ashen wanted the village dismantled so her salvage crew could return to work without fear of being ambushed. When the servant appeared in her path, Ashen stopped walking and folded her arms, frowning. As Baros and a handful of her soldiers watched, Arkamaedes again offered her the option to surrender. When she shook her head, it launched into another selection of verse.

Ashen was almost certain this one was from the apprentice dorms in Dalaran, judging by the juvenile, off-color flavor of the thing. The original version was, at least. Khadgar had selectively edited some of it, changing descriptions so that it sounded like it had been written about her. In the process, he’d thoroughly ruined the meter. _That man has no sense of rhythm_ , Ashen thought in mounting dismay. The first ‘poem’ hadn’t been a shining literary achievement, but at least it had rhymed in an attempt to make up for its deficiencies. Ashen’s ears flattened against her skull in irritation, even as her face heated at the colorful verse. Her soldiers were trying not to laugh outright, but Baros had no such compunctions. The architect was bent double, red-faced, and gasping for air even as he shouted with laughter.

“Do you concede, Command—”

“Go away,” Ashen told the servant firmly as her soldiers snickered.

It wasn’t until the servant appeared a third time that it dawned on Ashen that Khadgar was responding to what she’d done to the servitor—or the song she’d sent it back with, rather. It was the only explanation that made sense. When the realization struck, she suddenly felt as slow as Khadgar’s servant seemed to think she was. It had never occurred to her that the mage might retaliate—which seemed like a glaring miscalculation, in hindsight. It had been an impulse born of her temper that prompted her to bend the spell forming Arkamaedes and send him back with a dirty song. As far as she had been concerned, the matter had been closed. She hadn’t even expected an apology for the uproar Khadgar had caused two days ago. 

When the third appearance of the thorn in Ashen’s side occurred, she was looking at maps and discussing the outpost’s progress with Lieutenant Thorn, Baros Alexston, and Maraad, bowl of stew in one hand and wooden spoon in the other. The creature didn’t bother asking if she wished to surrender, and launched straight into a selection from an epic about the rise of the Arathi bloodline. She had always been fond of that piece, and perked up in spite of herself as the servant recited the introduction. From there, Arkamaedes moved straight into the stanzas that signaled the poem’s romance, proving that her initial reaction was premature. 

The offer of surrender suddenly made sense.

Ashen could see Thorn and Baros alternating between eyeing the elemental and exchanging glances with raised brows. The suggestive humor of the prior poem and its broken cadences had been bad enough, but this was worse. Most of it was intact, save where descriptions had been altered. She was blushing hard enough that even her fingers were blue. It wasn’t that the poem was indecent—quite the opposite. The portion the servant was reciting was a beautiful tribute to passion—emotional as well as physical. 

Khadgar was teasing her. She _knew_ it. The servant only popped up when she was surrounded by other people, which was clearly intended to increase the awkwardness of it. Ashen had also noticed Khadgar had a tendency to wield his quirky humor with the precision of a blade when it suited him—usually as a defense. Trying to needle her into submission was _exactly_ the kind of thing he would pull.

What made it irritating was knowing that she had inadvertently started this…whatever this ridiculousness was. What made it absolutely infuriating was that, despite knowing Khadgar was teasing her, her heart had skipped a beat at the first line he had changed to make the poem describe her.

_Khadgar is a menace. All he has to do to get away with being a menace is flash that crooked grin of his. Maddening man!_

When asked again if she wished to surrender, Ashen’s response was very diplomatic.

“Sod off!”

Enough time passed between that incident and the fourth visit from Arkamaedes that Ashen had started to hope Khadgar had run out of poetry. Lunarfall was settling in for the night when the servant popped into existence in front of her. Ashen sighed in defeat, and dropped the rag she’d been using to clean her sword. 

“How many more of these are there?” The death knight demanded before the servitor could say a word.

“This is the last one,” Arkamaedes answered.

Ashen’s ears pricked up as she straightened. At least the end was in sight.

“For today,” he added.

Ashen had made seasoned veterans and decorated heroes wilt with her narrow-eyed, scowling expression of displeasure. It just went with the general tone of the day for the servant to be completely immune to her glowering. The camp had also noticed the elemental’s presence; Maraad settled nearby on a heavy crate, giving her a smirk that earned him a flat stare. Ashen’s teeth ground together as she decided not to dignify the proceedings by taking further stock of the growing audience.

Arkamaedes launched into Khadgar’s final selection as Ashen braced herself. This one—

Was in Thalassian?

Ashen felt her expression go slack with surprise. It didn’t take long for her to figure out why Khadgar hadn’t translated the poem or subjected the verse to his butchery. Arkamaedes’s recital was rife with mispronunciations, which must have been deliberate. Thalassian was a difficult language for non-elves to grasp, largely because getting an inflection wrong changed the meaning of nearly every word.

For the first time that day, Ashen’s irritation was undercut by mirth. She recognized the poem, and from what she remembered it was _not_ supposed to be a ballad of devotion to a set of cooking utensils. When recited correctly, it was much like the prior selection from the Arathi epic…just considerably more risqué. With the imagery disrupted by random ladles, cauldrons, and so on, it was just funny. The fact that no one understood why she was laughing made it even funnier. Ashen laughed until something caught in her side and she couldn’t breathe without a spike of pain on each inhalation, then snorted and kept laughing. 

She much preferred this version of what was supposed to be one of the most sensual and romantic poems to ever come out of Quel’Thalas to the real thing, she decided. The poem had rather lost its shine decades ago, when a would-be suitor who had refused to take no for an answer had started drunkenly shouting it up at her window. Ashen paused, amusement fading as she suddenly remembered why she’d left Silvermoon City. An exile partly by choice from night elven holdings, she’d made something of a home with the high elves—when her restless nature wasn’t luring her across Azeroth. Ashen had always made herself scarce when faced with pressure to accept a suitor, and the last departure had been laden with consequences. She had stayed away for years, sworn fealty to a young human king, and returned to Quel’Thalas only to lose herself on the business end of Frostmourne. The death knight swallowed against a sudden surge of grief. She had wanted a family…but not with someone that hoped her ‘unfortunate’ coloring wouldn’t pass to her children. Ashen had waited…and now the chance was gone.

She forced the memories away and focused on the servant’s recital once more. As Arkamaedes wrapped up the final stanza in his almost-Khadgar-voice, she was struck by a thought that made her face flame. Her traitorous mind’s eye conjured a smirking Khadgar with gleaming eyes, rich voice rolling through the lyrical flow of that poem, without the alterations from poor pronunciation—

 _Stop,_ Ashen scolded herself. _Arthas’s atrophied ass, where did he get that poem? We’re stuck a universe away from a library containing elven poetry. Is he carrying a book of it?_ Her brows lifted on a sudden surge of curiosity. _Does he have it memorized?_

There was something about the thought that Khadgar—whose affable demeanor and fondness for puns doubled as a shield—having a poem like that memorized that tugged at Ashen’s carefully contained emotions and desires. Wondering what else he was hiding behind a smirk and a ready joke was asking for trouble of a sort she had no business having. Then again, it was probably a little late to ask for trouble when she already seemed to have it in spades. It was entirely unfortunate that the trouble she had was not the sort of trouble she secretly wanted. 

“Commander, will you surrender?” Arkamaedes asked again, producing a folded letter from thin air and offering it to her.

Ashen studied the glowing form of Arkamaedes in irritable silence for a few moments after accepting the missive, and sighed inwardly. She really, _really_ hated the word ‘surrender.’ Damn it all, it would probably be wise to call some sort of halt to this absurdity—for the sake of poetry everywhere, if nothing else. Still…

She didn’t have it in her to surrender, and since Khadgar had taken a swing at her—

Ashen decided to do what she did best. 

She swung back.

*

Khadgar’s morning was marked by the reluctant return of Cordana and the considerably more enthusiastic return of his arcane servant. The creature was carrying a letter from the death knight, as well as her answer to the onslaught of verse. The mage hadn’t truly expected Ashen to surrender to his shenanigans, and she didn’t disappoint him. 

Ashen’s response was doled out in episodes over the course of the day by the servant that now insisted his name was Arkamaedes. The death knight had spun a quixotic tale about a disaster prone, clueless mage that just so happened to resemble Khadgar. The mage in the story blundered from one debacle to another, trailed by a faithful arcane servant that somehow managed to pull his arse from the figurative fire—

Khadgar thought his servant could have looked a bit less pleased about that part. Although, rude insinuations about incompetence aside…it was rather amusing.

Somehow the fictional mage managed to fall into the Well of Eternity and rip a hole in reality, unwittingly consort with the Legion, and sacrifice a continent to the Void. Woven through all of that was Ashen’s acerbic humor…and her pointed rebuttal of his poetic sensibilities. The last installment of the tale ended with the mage being skewered after accidentally ensorcelling himself so that he could only speak in poorly constructed verse. After the poor fellow’s demise, the rest of the characters in the story felt the need to throw a party in celebration. 

Khadgar laughed until he couldn’t breathe. When he finally managed to drag air into his lungs, he wiped his eyes and glanced over at the rippling form of his construct. “So, tell me how she _really_ felt about it,” the archmage told Arkamaedes wryly.

Despite the fact the comment had been made in jest, the construct was quick to supply Ashen’s reactions in an entertaining level of detail. Khadgar’s only regret was that he hadn’t been there to see her blushing. Though on second thought, she might have perforated him with something sharp if he _had_ been there. He had expected the death knight to be rather displeased, but had never imagined it would be inferior literature that triggered her—or inferior alterations to superior literature. Either way, it was unexpected.

It was also gratifying to know that he had been able to get under her skin about something. Now that Khadgar knew about that little quirk of hers, he also had an idea of what to send her next—provided the Horde could supply what he needed. 

When Khadgar put his request to Len’thalar, the blood elf commander looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Do I want to know?” The red-haired elf asked finally.

“Probably not,” Khadgar answered cheerfully.

After the request was passed through the Horde survivors, Khadgar was presented with a surprising number of books. He was vaguely aware of Len’thalar hovering nearby—attempting to look uninterested—as he sorted through the volumes, occasionally picking one and flipping through the pages. So far none of the offerings had struck the note Khadgar was hoping for. He was nearly to the bottom of the pile when he hit pay dirt.

Brows climbing, Khadgar picked up a worn volume and opened it, then started scanning the pages. This one was even in Common, oddly enough. A slow grin crept over his face as he perused the text. _This might be the worst thing I’ve ever read,_ Khadgar thought delightedly. _Ashen will hate it._

And that made it perfect, of course.

*

“This is ridiculous,” Ashen muttered for what must have been the twentieth time since Arkamaedes had appeared that morning. If the past few days were any indication, it was going to become her new mantra. She could see her future very clearly—running headlong into battle with runes blazing on her swords while shouting ‘This is ridiculous!’ at the top of her lungs.

 _Welcome to ludicrous Lunarfall,_ Ashen thought with a sigh.

Arkamaedes was regaling everyone in earshot with a selection from one of those horrid steamy romance novel things. This one featured a night elf and dwarf…where she was the night elf and apparently Hansel was the dwarf. There were also plenty of vehicle and riding metaphors. It boggled the mind how something could be so non-explicit and such filthy trash all at the same time.

It was ridiculous.

The only consolation was that Hansel was highly offended by his insertion into that travesty. He’d also told her not to get any ideas, because she was much too tall for him. 

That was ridiculous, but at least it made Ashen laugh.

Maraad was sitting in the remnants of a crate he had broken, laughing until tears ran down his face. The paladin was wheezing, shoulders shaking so hard his plate armor rattled. Every time Ashen thought he was finally going to catch his breath, he erupted into bellowing hysterics again.

It was, in keeping with the rest of it, utterly ridiculous. But unlike the rest of it, the sight of Maraad laughing rather than under the cloud of grief and simmering rage that had been slowly eating him since the Dark Portal reopened made it worth it. 

Mostly. That finger pointed at her while he howled was making her reconsider.

Ashen snatched a biscuit off her plate and lobbed it at the draenei vindicator’s head. “Shut it, you. If you told Khadgar about Northrend then this is your fault.”

Maraad ducked the improvised missile, and made a valiant effort to curb his mirth. “I didn’t, I swear it,” the paladin guffawed. 

Ashen sighed, and propped her chin on the heel of her left hand. She lifted a brow at Lieutenant Thorn, who was watching her expectantly. “You might as well ask.”

“What about Northrend?”

“We were in Zul’Drak, waiting out a blizzard,” Maraad snickered. “One of the soldiers had this steamy romance novel and started reading aloud to pass the time—”

“And it was _that_ novel,” Ashen said darkly, wagging the index finger of her right hand at Arkamaedes. The wretched servant was listening with interest.

“So Ashen snatched it and threw it in the fire, much to the dismay of everyone who wanted to see how it, ah. How it ended,” Maraad continued, starting to laugh again.

“By the time we assaulted Naxxramas, it was a tradition. A steamy romance novel and a ritual burning every time we made camp,” Ashen told Thorn, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Whoever wrote those damn things must have made a killing during that campaign.”

The taciturn worgen lieutenant grinned. “A book burner? You’ve got hidden depths, Commander.”

“I try,” Ashen answered wryly.

Arkamaedes made her amusement vanish like magic. “On that note, would you care to surrender, Commander?”

“Not even a little, no. I do have a reply, though.”

Damn it if Khadgar’s blasted servant didn’t beam at her in response.

*

Khadgar was puzzled by Ashen’s return salvo, at first.

Arkamaedes would announce Khadgar’s presence—as if he were appearing at court—whenever someone came to speak to him or vice versa. Other than seeming pointless and somewhat irritating, it was fairly innocuous. The servant would give his name and either a title or an accomplishment and then scarper off.

After it happened a handful of times, the game changed. His name was followed by Ashen’s sarcasm. She joyously stuck pins in his pride with every phrase the servant uttered. It was highly entertaining, for the most part.

_Khadgar, Bearer of the Bird Stick._

_Khadgar, Practitioner of the Scrawny Blue Chicken Transformation._

_Khadgar, Malicious Maligner of Meter, Rhythm, and Rhyme._

It was highly entertaining—except for when it wasn’t.

_Dadgar, Never Ending Source of Poorly Timed Puns._

“Infuriating woman,” Khadgar muttered under his breath. He hadn’t said it quietly enough, though, because Cordana visibly bristled at him. “Not _you,_ ” he told her in exasperation. 

Ashen was quite clearly a heretic. He’d told her once already that there was no such thing as a poorly timed pun. Apparently she still needed to be persuaded to return to the path of the Light—which _everyone_ knew was really paved with puns.

Or was it good intentions?

_Puns. Definitely puns._

Khadgar grinned.

*

_I’m going to throttle him._

Khadgar was supposed to return to Lunarfall the next day, and Ashen was more than mildly tempted to make it memorable. She knew where the beacon was, after all. 

Maybe Lunarfall could use a new latrine. 

When Arkamaedes had appeared, Ashen had rather expected either more poetry or more off-color, horribly written prose. Instead, she got something that was both more mundane and more embarrassing.

“Are you certain your name isn’t Elune? That’s quite the heavenly body you’ve got there,” Arkamaedes rattled off happily.

Ashen’s brows had lifted and her jaw had dropped for a moment before she scowled fiercely. Maraad was seized with a sudden, very suspicious fit of coughing as she made a shooing motion at the servant with both hands. “Out! Get out of my command post!”

If only the creature had stayed gone.

If only there hadn’t been more of those…those…pickup puns? Ashen wasn’t even sure what to call them.

_Tell me, Commander, does your frost…bite? Perhaps if I ask nicely?_

_You must be exhausted, haunting me the way you do. Are you going to ghost me now? In the spirit of honesty, I’d be quite disappointed if you did._

_Ebon Hold sounds like it’s a technique of some sort—an unholy one._

_Has anyone ever told you that you’re wraith in motion?_

Ashen had to give Khadgar points for creativity—albeit reluctantly. She’d never heard terrible tavern pickup lines done to the theme of death knight abilities before. He ran the full range from corny to blush-inducingly awful. Judging from Arkamaedes’s delight every time her face flamed, the latter sort had been the goal.

Instead of sending a letter along with the torment, as he had previously, Khadgar sent a short note with the servant late that afternoon.

**_Ashen, I’ll be returning to Lunarfall in the morning, at which time I’ll gladly accept your surrender._ **

Ashen scrawled a reply below Khadgar’s script and had Arkamaedes take it back.

**It’s a poor commander who surrenders to heckling. You’re enjoying this entirely too much, aren’t you?**

She should never have answered him.

**_Oh, absolutely. I understand you blush rather violently?_ **

**Arse.**

**_Come now, Ashen. You can do better than that._ **

**Far be it from me to disappoint the master conjurer of twatwafflerous asshattery and maintainer of the endless buffet of buffoonery with lack luster one-word insults. Bastard.**

**_Has anyone told you lately that you have the soul of a particularly angry, foul-mouthed poet? Also: stop trying to kill me, woman! I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe._ **

The assertion of amusement was underscored by the shakiness of his handwriting and the splatters of ink around his reply. Ashen wadded the parchment with the written exchange and threw it in Arkamaedes’s face, telling him _that_ was her reply. The servant vanished with a faint pop.

The death knight exited the small command post a few moments later, needing movement and work to distract her from the tangled knot of amusement and ire that seemed to accompany dealings with Khadgar. She hadn’t gotten far through the outpost when her gaze snagged on a familiar rogue in SI:7 leathers, and her steps slowed. 

_Well, there’s something that should have occurred to me sooner,_ Ashen thought on a sudden surge of laughter. It looked like Khadgar wouldn’t be teleporting into a latrine after all.

*

Khadgar rematerialized on the path leading from Lunarfall’s beach to the Alliance outpost with Cordana in tow the following morning. As the magic faded, the mage closed his eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of Shadowmoon Valley after nearly two weeks in the icy wasteland the Frostwolves called home. When his eyes opened a moment later, he found Ashen waiting a few feet away, arms folded, fingertips slowly drumming against one elbow.

Ashen was wearing that politely impassive expression she had hidden behind after the bonfire. It made Khadgar want to needle her until she revealed the wry, sarcastic spitfire he’d caught glimpses of. He’d rather hoped that teasing her would get it out of his system, but if the way his heart kicked against his ribs at the sight of her was any indication, he’d only made it worse for himself.

 _Typical,_ Khadgar thought with an inner sigh. _Leave it to me to play with fire and wonder why it burns._

“I need to speak with Commander Ashen for a moment, Cordana,” he told the Warden, tilting his head toward the outpost to indicate she should enter. 

Archmage and death knight waited in silence, gazes locked, as Cordana reluctantly withdrew. Khadgar finally folded his arms across his chest and lifted a brow once the Warden was out of earshot. “Isn’t there something you’d like to say to me?” He challenged with a smirk.

Ashen unfolded her arms and slowly propped her hands on her hips as one brow flicked upward. “As a matter of fact, there is. I’m prepared to offer you a very generous cease fire, Archmage.”

Khadgar blinked as she followed that statement with a slow, dimpled grin. “A cease fire?” He repeated dubiously. “No. I won, and this is the part where you admit it and we move on.”

Ashen shook her head at him, grin still firmly in place, glowing eyes flaring with mischief. “If you don’t like my first offer, I could always demand that _you_ surrender,” she retorted, velvety voice filled with laughter. “Varian’s going to get some very interesting reports from SI:7, which means you’re likely going to have an even more interesting conversation with him at some point.”

Khadgar stared at her in a mixture of awe and consternation. He’d gotten too accustomed to doing as he pleased; even as a member of the Council of Six the worst he’d typically face for something considered outrageous was a leading role in the rumor mill. If it had occurred to him that his poetic badgering of Ashen would end up in the field reports, then he might have refrained. (Or not, but it was a nice thought.) He generally didn’t care what other people thought, but Varian was an old friend who would likely realize…things—things Khadgar did not want realized, and was not prepared to admit even to _himself_. 

“So will you, then,” he rallied after a moment. “You started it, as I recall.”

_And now I’m a five-year-old. Bloody fantastic._

Ashen’s grin only widened. “I have a great deal of faith in and respect for the Spymaster, but even he’s not going to have eyes in the Horde outpost yet. A truce, then?”

Khadgar rubbed a hand over his mouth, staring at her for several long moments. “Just answer one question for me, first. Were you planning to ambush me with this the whole time?”

Ashen blinked at him in surprise, then sputtered into the laugh Khadgar had been wanting to hear since the night they’d danced around a bonfire. He was powerless to stop the slow, upward curl of his mouth in response. “I truly wish I was half as devious as you seem to think I am,” Ashen told him, still laughing. She took a breath as she shook her head, smiling. “No, I only realized that last night…after nearly walking face first into one of Shaw’s rogues.”

That made Khadgar grin. “Distracted by a witty, charming mage, were you?”

“By how much I wanted to strangle said mage? Absolutely,” Ashen answered sweetly.

“Alright, a truce then,” Khadgar chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. He studied Ashen as he let his hands fall back to his sides and his mirth subsided. After a moment, he held a hand out to her, unable to keep the hope from his expression. “Still friends, Commander?”

Ashen lifted a brow at him, tapping her chin with a forefinger thoughtfully. She made Khadgar wait just long enough that he was starting to worry she would say no. As she clapped her hand into his, she grinned at him like she knew exactly what had gone through his mind. “Friends,” she agreed warmly.

Khadgar smiled down at her as they shook on it, trying to ignore the contradictory tangle that lodged in his gut at the declaration of friendship. Ashen tugged him forward before pulling her hand from his, and they started walking up the path to the outpost in silence.

Ashen glanced over at him as they neared the palisade. “I have to say, though: we may have inadvertently stumbled on to something brilliant.”

Brows jumping upward, Khadgar shot her a questioning look.

“You should send that arcane instigator of yours after Gul’dan and badger him into surrendering. We could be home this time next week.”

When they walked into Lunarfall, Khadgar was shouting with laughter.


End file.
